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About the Author
Sue Ann Jaffarian is a critically acclaimed, award-winning author whose books have been lauded by the New York Times, optioned for film/TV rights, and praised by New York Times best-selling author Lee Child and Emmy award-winning actress Camryn Manheim. In addition to the paranormal Ghost of Granny Apples Mystery series, she is the author of the Odelia Grey and the Madison Rose Vampire Mystery series. Sue Ann is also nationally sought after as a motivational and humorous speaker. She lives and works in Los Angeles, California.
Visit Sue Ann on the Internet at
www.sueannjaffarian.com
and
www.sueannjaffarian.blogspot.com
For my parents, Art (Arakel) and Margaret.
If I have one regret about my writing, it's that you are not alive to read it.
But then again, maybe you are ...
Copyright Information
Gem of a Ghost: A Ghost of Granny Apples Mystery © 2012 by Sue Ann Jaffarian.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any matter whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Midnight Ink, except in the form of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
First e-book edition © 2012
E-book ISBN: 9780738731247
Cover design by Ellen Lawson
Cover illustration © 2011 Doug Thompson
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acknowledgments
As with all my books, my heartfelt thanks go out to my agent, Whitney Lee, and my manager, Diana James, who stand by me through thick and thin.
I want to send a special word of thanks to all the folks at my publisher, Llewellyn/Midnight Ink, for their patience in granting me extra time to get this novel done. The messiness of life often snubs its nose at contract deadlines, and this book would not have turned out nearly as well had they not granted me a couple of extensions and worked around the unfinished manuscript for sales and marketing purposes.
A special acknowledgment goes to Betty Lou McBride for giving up several hours of her time to give me a detailed tour of the Old Jail Museum and a quick history of the town of Mauch Chunk (now Jim Thorpe, PA) and the Molly Maguires.
one
"I'm being haunted, Emma." The words were blurted, cut and harsh, by Joanna Reid, the woman sitting across from Emma Whitecastle. Then, remembering where she was, Joanna discreetly cut her eyes at the neighboring tables to see if anyone had overheard her. Satisfied no one was paying them any mind, she leaned forward, narrowed her eyes, and whispered, "Do something."
It was an order, not a request, made without preamble.
They were having lunch at the Ivy on Robertson Boulevard, seated on the crowded patio under sun umbrellas clustered together like giant mushrooms. The Ivy was a Los Angeles bistro popular with celebrities. Two tables over, eyes shielded behind large designer sunglasses, one of the Olsen twins was seated with two other young women. Several tables in the opposite direction sat the always elegant Sidney Poitier. Conan O'Brien had been leaving the restaurant as Emma arrived. The patio was separated from the sidewalk by a white picket fence. On the far side of the busy street, standing in front of a clothing store, were a couple of determined paparazzi waiting to snap off photos of stars lunching. After catching O'Brien's departure, one had grabbed a shot of her. The other photographer had ignored her completely, which was fine by Emma.
She'd been surprised when a call came from Joanna's secretary asking if she'd be available to meet. She hadn't heard from Joanna in almost five years, not since shortly after Joanna's husband, Max Naiman, had been killed in a car accident. Emma didn't even recognize the name at first, not until the secretary amended her message to say Joanna Naiman Reid was extending the invitation. Then Emma remembered that Joanna had remarried a few years back.
Max Naiman had been a very popular action film star, best known for his franchise of spy thrillers. Before Max's death, Emma and her then-husband, Grant Whitecastle, had seen the Naimans socially on occasion, bonded not just by show business but by the friendship of their daughters, Kelly and Elaine, better known as Lainey. The girls had attended the same private schools for years. After Max's accident, Joanna shipped Lainey off to a European boarding school and threw herself into her work. She was now an executive at a major studio. Emma had tried to keep contact with Joanna after Max's death, but Joanna had never responded to the attempts. Now, out of the blue, Joanna had asked to meet with her.
Emma put down her fork and stared at her lunch companion. "What do you expect me to do, Joanna?"
Joanna flicked her left hand back and forth, the thick gold watch on her wrist and large diamond on her ring finger sparkling in the sunlight that peeked between the umbrellas. She was a woman used to giving orders and having them followed without question. "Whatever it is you people do with such things."
"You people ?"
"You know what I mean, you people who talk to ghosts." Joanna was still whispering, but her tone was imperious.
Emma picked up her water glass and leaned back in her chair to take stock of the situation. She'd thought the meeting might have to do with The Whitecastle Report, her popular cable TV show about the paranormal. Emma had been courted recently by a few studios for other projects and had wondered if Joanna was going to throw her studio's hat into the ring. It seemed the lunch invitation was about Emma's paranormal talents, just not in the way she had imagined.
Ignoring Joanna's bossy tone, Emma took a drink of her sparkling water, holding the fizzy bubbles in her mouth a few seconds before swallowing. "Why do you think your home is haunted, Joanna?"
"Not my house," Joanna hissed with annoyed urgency. "Me."
Joanna Reid had the type of Southern California good looks that came with having the right doctors and the money to pay them, while Emma had the kind of beauty that came from genetics and letting nature take its course. They were about the same age---in the second half of their forties---and had one daughter each. Both were tall, slender, fit, and blond. With a hand, Joanna flicked her ash-blond hair over her left shoulder. When Emma had last seen her, Joanna's hair had been dark brown and short. She'd also had a different nose.
But her hair and a nose job weren't the only things Emma noticed about Joanna. While her eye makeup was artfully applied, Joanna hadn't been able to entirely mask the dark circles or the sunken appearance to her cheeks. The woman was either ill or seriously worried about something.
"What's more," Joanna continued, again looking around to make sure no one was listening, "it's Max."
"Max?" Emma put down her water glass and studied Joanna with interest. The ghost of a dead husband could explain Joanna's appearance. "Can you see him? Or hear him?"
"Of course not. That's your job, isn't it?"
"You people. Your job." Feeling feisty in the face of Joanna's rudeness, Emma threw the words back at her. "I'm not on your staff, Joanna. Please remember that."
Emma started to say something more but stopped when their waiter approached to check on things. After leaving their table, he hovered at the one next to them. She used the time to simmer down and focus on the air around them, trying to determine if there were, in fact, any ghosts in the vicinity. She saw and felt none.
As soon as the waiter left their area, Emma asked Joanna in a low voice, "Then how do you know it's a ghost, Max or otherwise?"
"I just know," she snapped. "It's a feeling. A cold, creepy feeling." Joanna got quiet and looked out past the fence toward the street. The paparazzi were busy snapping photos of the solo Olsen twin as she waited for the valet to fetch her car. "Yet a sense of familiarity, too." She turned back to Emma. "Does that make sense?"
"To me it does." Emma tested the waters to see if Joanna really could sense spirits or was just making it up. "Is Max here right now?"
"No."
Joanna started to take a bite of her half-eaten salad, then stopped and motioned for the waiter to come and take it away. Emma also indicated she was finished. Another waiter came by to refresh Joanna's iced tea.
When they were reasonably alone again, Joanna said in a sharp, low tone, "Familiar or not, make him go away. Now." It was another order.
"It's not that simple, Joanna. I can't just say abracadabra and he'll leave. I need to know more about why he's here."
Joanna gave her a disgusted look, the kind of look that said then what good are you?
Emma hadn't particularly liked Joanna before Max's death either. Max had been the one with the easygoing and fun personality. She'd even suspected Grant and Joanna of having a short fling years ago. The woman could be snide and harsh with others, especially with her own family. Lainey had spent a lot of time at the Whitecastle home, and Emma suspected it had been partially to escape her tyrannical mother.
In spite of Joanna's rudeness, Emma was intrigued by the idea that Max Naiman might have returned from the other side. "Has this been going on ever since Max's death?"
"No, that's what's so odd." Joanna took a long drink of her iced tea, then touched a napkin to the corners of her mouth. "It started a couple of months ago. Out of the blue."
"Hardly out of the blue, my dear." The comment came out of nowhere, taking Emma by surprise. She hadn't seen or felt the spirit when she'd looked around a moment before, but there was definitely one nearby now. It didn't materialize; it didn't have to. Emma had recognized the deep and sexy Australian accent immediately. It was the voice of Max Naiman.
Emma tried hard not to let surprise reflect on her face as she gazed across the small table at Joanna. She need not have bothered; Joanna wasn't paying attention to her. Keeping her head as straight as if she were in a neck brace, Joanna's dark eyes, wide with an odd mixture of dread and annoyance, were darting around like newly released pinballs. Even in the warmth of the day, her bare arms were speckled with goose bumps and crossed in front of her as if warding off bitter cold. Emma had no doubt now about Joanna's ability to sense the presence of Max's spirit.
"He's here now," she said to Emma, still not allowing her eyes to focus on one spot.
"I know." Emma kept her voice low and soft. "He just arrived."
Finally Joanna's eyes settled back on Emma. "So it's true. You can see ghosts."
"When they want to be seen, yes. I can't see Max, but he just spoke. I recognized his voice."
"Don't let her kid you, Emma," the disembodied voice said. "Joanna knows why I'm here."
"I'll pay you anything you want," Joanna told Emma with cold intensity, "to make him leave permanently."
For a split second Emma thought she saw the shimmering outline of a spirit behind Joanna's chair. Then it was gone, dissipating in the warm air like a puff of steam, but not before offering up parting words: "Fix this."
"Wait," Emma called to it, forgetting she was in a public place. People near them glanced her way before going back to their business.
The waiter came over. "Is there something I can get for you, Mrs. Whitecastle?"
"No," Emma answered, trying to appear casual about her outburst. "But thank you." Used to catering to the rich and famous and their eccentricities, he retreated with a slight shrug.
Joanna uncrossed her arms and took a deep breath, the gesture letting Emma know she also knew the ghost was gone.
"What did he say, Emma?"
"He said he didn't come to you out of the blue---and that you know why he's here."
"And?" Joanna pressed, her eyes boring into Emma like drills searching for oil.
"That's it, I'm afraid." Emma picked up her glass and took a sip of water, trying to decide if the words fix this were meant for her or for Joanna.
"That's it?" Joanna sounded angry. Emma wasn't sure if the emotion was directed at her or at Max, or at her by proxy.
It was Emma's turn to lean forward. "What happened in the past several months to trigger his presence?"
Joanna dismissed the question and waved to the waiter for their check. "Nothing."
Emma knew she was lying. "Something brought him back. He could have been around all this time, but something brought him to the point of letting you know he was here. It's been my experience that spirits don't do that lightly. They don't go out of their way to let the living know they are around---especially those who cannot see or hear them---unless they have a purpose."
When the check was delivered, Joanna immediately slapped down a black American Express card. The waiter whisked it away.
"Isn't that why you asked me to lunch---to find out why he's here?"
"I invited you to lunch to ask you to get rid of him---to hire you as some sort of ghost exorcist. I don't care one bit why he's here."
The waiter returned with the credit card slip. Joanna scribbled her name on it. Without looking at Emma, she folded her copy of the receipt and slipped it into her blue crocodile Hermès Birkin, a handbag that cost more than the average family of four lived on in a year.
Emma persisted. "Max must have a reason for reaching out to you. Knowing that will help me communicate with him. Even then, he may not want to talk to me, and he may not leave until whatever brought him here is finished."
A sad smile sneaked across Joanna's face. "Max always had good reasons for doing everything he did ... even driving his car over the edge of that cliff."
The words stunned Emma. Max Naiman had been killed when his car spun out of control on a hairpin turn on Highway 1 just south of Big Sur. The news had reported he'd been drunk at the time. There had never been any indication the accident was deliberate on Max's part.
"Would you like to talk about it? Maybe someplace private?" Emma filled her voice with genuine concern in spite of her personal feelings about Joanna. Unwanted ghosts usually left people feeling helpless and anxious. If she could help Max, she could help Joanna. "I'm going out of town this afternoon, but maybe next week I can drop by your home."
Joanna cackled. "Right. Bring a famous ghost whisperer into the house and have Lin wonder what more could be going on? Not on your life."
Lin, Emma knew, was Linwood Reid, Joanna's present husband. Emma wasn't exactly sure what he did for a living, only that he was considered a big shot in finance.
"What do you mean by more?"
Joanna looked away.
"If something serious is going on in your life, it could be why Max is here. He may be trying to tell you something or even trying to warn you."
Joanna turned and glued her eyes to Emma's face. In spite of her drawn, tired appearance, Joanna's face was steely and determined. "Or trying to hurt us. Maybe he can't stand the thought that his family is finally happy."
"Look," Emma told her. "I have a small private office at my home in Pasadena. You're welcome there anytime." She paused before tossing out the next suggestion, pretty sure it would be shot down, but she had to try. "But the best solution would be for you and me to meet with my friend Milo Ravenscroft. He lives on the Westside, close to Santa Monica. He's out of town right now, but when he returns, I'm sure he'll be happy to help you."
"Milo Ravenscroft." Joanna said the name with a near snort, a cousin to her earlier cackle. "The famous reclusive psychic? That's rich."
"Milo isn't reclusive; he's shy. And he knows more about the paranormal than almost anyone else alive."
Joanna stood up and slipped on a pair of Louis Vuitton sunglasses. The meeting was over. Emma was dismissed.
Emma picked up her purse---also a designer bag, but only about 1 percent the cost of Joanna's---and got to her feet. While they were waiting for the valet to bring their cars around, Emma pulled out a business card and pen and scribbled something on the back of the card. She handed it to Joanna. "This is my office number, the one your secretary has. On the back is my cell phone. I'm here for you, Joanna. Just call if you want to talk."
Although she took the card, Joanna avoided looking at Emma and remained silent. Joanna's silver Jaguar was the first to arrive. She went to the driver's side and tipped the valet.
Emma called to her, "Max said to 'fix it,' Joanna. What did he mean by that?"
Joanna Reid stopped in her tracks. She didn't turn to look at Emma but hung suspended, half in and half out of her vehicle, for several seconds before disappearing into the driver's seat. With a squeal of rubber, she pulled away from the curb.
two
"You really saw the ghost of Max Naiman?" Phil Bowers sounded as excited as a kid meeting his sports hero. "Man, I loved his movies. My sons did, too. Never missed a one."
He and Emma were on horseback, riding side by side along a trail in the hills outside Julian, the historic gold-mining town in the mountains north of San Diego. Phil was astride Astro, his large chestnut stallion, while Emma rode Daisy, a paint with a friendly disposition that was a new addition to the Bowers ranch. Trotting alongside them were Baby and Sweetie Pie, two German shepherds who also lived at the ranch. As they rode, she told Phil about her lunch with Joanna Reid.
Emma had driven straight to Julian after leaving the Ivy, spending much of the three-hour drive thinking about her lunch with Joanna. Whether or not Joanna wanted to discuss the appearance of Max's ghost, Emma was now intrigued enough to want to know more, especially since Joanna had dropped the bomb that Max may have driven over the cliff on purpose. The question was how much did she want to be involved. The last time she had investigated a ghost's death, it had resulted in pain and turmoil for her own family.
"I didn't see him, Phil, I only heard him."
"But you knew him? I mean, when he was alive, you actually knew him?"
Emma nodded, still thinking about what the ghost had said.
"What was he like?"
The eagerness in Phil's voice brought Emma out of her thoughts and made her giggle. "Good grief, Phil, you sound like a star-struck groupie instead of a middle-aged tax attorney."
Emma glanced over at Phil and smiled. He didn't look like a tax attorney either. Seated comfortably on Astro, he looked like a mature rancher, which he was in addition to being a very successful lawyer. Most of the week he lived in San Diego close to his thriving law practice and his two grown sons. On weekends he drove up to Julian, where he lived on his family's ranch with his aunt and uncle, Susan and Glen Steveson. Emma had visited Phil in San Diego and was amazed at how easily he fit into both the ranching and the business worlds. He was a confident man, sure of himself and blessed with both intelligence and street smarts. He was also compassionate and kind.
"Hey, I wanted to be him---or at least the characters he played." Phil shot off a wink at Emma. "Any guy who got to kiss Angelina Jolie, Sandra Bullock, and Halle Berry is my hero."
"And what about me?" Emma asked playfully.
"What about you?"
"I've kissed Max Naiman."
Phil abruptly pulled up Astro and stared at Emma. "Are you kidding me?"
Emma slowed Daisy but didn't stop. She kept moving and shot over her shoulder, "Nope. Kissed him plenty of times."
Astro and Phil came alongside again. "Wow, my lips have kissed the lips that kissed the lips that kissed those hotties. It's like"---he paused to think---"it's like three degrees of kissing separation."
Emma giggled again. "It's not like I've had numerous passionate liplocks with Max, but our lips did touch on holidays and at dinner parties."
"That's good enough for me."
They rode along in comfortable silence until Phil halted Astro and dismounted. Emma took the cue and got off Daisy. They were at a lookout point on the trail with a lovely view of the valley below. Years before, someone had installed a bench facing the view to give riders and hikers a place to rest and contemplate.
As soon as Emma had arrived at the cabin she'd built across from the Bowers ranch, Phil had called and suggested a short pre-dinner ride. He gave her time to change her clothes and stretch her legs after the long drive from Los Angeles. When she walked over to the Bowers place, Phil and the horses were waiting, and Phil had a special twinkle in his eye that made Emma glow.
At the lookout, the dogs dashed about, running and chasing each other, while Phil pulled a saddlebag from Astro. From it he extracted an insulated bag holding a bottle of champagne. From a bag on the other side of the saddle, he produced two plastic cups and a couple of napkins.
"What's the occasion?" asked Emma.
Phil cocked an eyebrow in her direction. "I have to tell you? Tsk, tsk, tsk."
With great flair, he directed Emma to have a seat on one end of the bench and placed a napkin across her lap.
Holding the champagne bottle and pointing it away from them, he twisted off the wire cage and put another napkin over the stopper. "This could be tricky. After all that jostling on the horse, it might be a geyser."
Slowly Phil loosened the cork, bit by bit, until there was a pop. It wasn't a geyser, but some of the champagne did spill onto the ground. He turned back to Emma, pleased as punch with himself to have saved most of the bubbly.
"Madam?" he offered.
With a wide smile, Emma held out both glasses while Phil filled them. Done with his waiter chores, he put a napkin over the top of the bottle and returned it to the thermal bag to keep it cool, then he took a seat on the bench next to Emma.
He held out his glass to her. "Here's to our two-year anniversary, Fancy Pants."
She smiled at his nickname for her---a nickname that had started out as anything but friendly. "But we didn't start dating until October."
"Ah, but we met two years ago right here in Julian."
"But in mid-May, not the beginning of the month." She tried to keep her face straight while she teased him, but she couldn't.
"You going to toast with me or argue with me?"
In response, Emma leaned forward, snatched Phil's cowboy hat off his bald head, and planted a sloppy kiss on his mouth, letting her lips linger long enough to be tickled by his thick, graying moustache. With the kiss complete, she tapped her plastic glass against his. "To our second anniversary, Cowboy."
"I wanted to celebrate this weekend," Phil explained after taking a sip, "because it looks like my trip to Canada with my boys is on after all. We'll be gone for almost three weeks in May. With Richard getting married in the fall and Tom off to grad school about the same time, it will probably be our last opportunity to spend this much time together."
Emma fully understood. With Kelly away at Harvard, time with her daughter had become precious gifts snatched whenever Kelly came home. Soon both she and Phil would have empty nests. It was a sad yet exciting part of being a parent.
They sipped their champagne and looked out at the view, Emma cuddled against Phil's strong body, content with themselves and with each other. The dogs, done playing, settled down under a tree while the horses waited patiently.
Several minutes later, Phil reached again for the champagne bottle and topped off their glasses. "Do you think Max was talking about his own death when he said to fix it, or was it something else?"
"I don't know, Phil. Max had a great career going. I don't know what his marriage was like, but he didn't seem the type to crack and take his own life." She ran a hand through her short blond hair. "He did, however, like his booze and had been stopped for DUIs in the past. The suggestion that he drove off the road deliberately was probably Joanna's way of infusing the situation with additional drama."
Phil took a drink and rolled the information around in his head. "So, how can I help you with this Max Naiman thing? I have a friend in law enforcement who might be able to get a copy of the police report on the accident."
Emma straightened and leaned against the back of the bench. "There is no Max Naiman thing. Joanna asked to meet with me. We met, and she pushed aside any suggestions of mine to meet further." She took a large swallow of champagne. "End of story."
Amused, Phil topped off her glass again. "Look me in the eye, Fancy Pants, and tell me you aren't the least bit curious about what happened to Max and why his ghost has surfaced now."
Leaning forward, Emma latched her blue eyes onto Phil's gray ones. "I'm not the least---," she started, then stopped, annoyed with herself that she couldn't finish the statement truthfully. "I don't want to get involved," she said instead and looked away.
"That's not what I asked."
Blowing out a gust of frustrated air, Emma leaned back again and stared up at the branches of the trees high overhead. "You're right, Phil, I am curious about what happened with Max, and I do want to try to talk to him. But after what happened in Catalina, I'm a little gun-shy about uncovering other people's secrets."
Phil put down the bottle. Getting off the bench, he squatted in front of Emma and took her hands in his. "What happened in Catalina was not your fault." He could tell by the way she avoided looking at him that she wasn't convinced. "You brought Tessa justice. Didn't she deserve that?"
Emma nodded but still didn't look at Phil. She kept her eyes turned up toward the trees, hoping to ward off the tears she felt damming up behind her eyes.
"It was unfortunate how it played out," he added. "But the outcome was not your fault."
Emma lowered her chin and looked at Phil. "I still intend to mind my own business, whether or not Joanna calls and no matter what she offers."
"Offers?"
"Yes. She offered to pay me to get rid of Max's ghost. Pretty much said I could name my price."
"A paying gig, no less?" He laughed. "This is opening up a whole new career for you, Fancy Pants."
"I don't want a new career," she insisted with knitted brows. "I'm happy with the TV show, being a mom, and spending part of my time down here."
Phil held up an index finger. "Don't be so hasty. That TV show may not last forever."
"I'm financially comfortable, Phil, no matter what happens to that show, and you know it."
"I'm not saying do it full-time, just when someone needs help. Until now you've only helped ghosts. There might be some live people, like Joanna, who could use your services."
"No, thanks. I'll leave being a professional spirit go-between to Milo." Emma got up and stretched. "Speaking of ghosts, have you seen Granny lately? She's been MIA from the house for several days at a stretch for the past month---not like her at all."
Granny was Emma's great-great-great-grandmother Ish Reynolds, a hundred-plus-year-old ghost better known as Granny Apples because of the apple pies she had made when she was alive. Granny was the reason Emma had discovered Julian. She was also the reason Emma discovered she had the gift to see and speak with spirits---and the reason Emma met and fell in love with Phil Bowers.
"You know I can't see or hear Granny." Phil gave her a coy smile.
"Nice try, Cowboy. You may not be able to see or hear her, but you've become pretty perceptive about knowing when she's around."
"No flies on you, Fancy Pants."
Phil kicked back the champagne in his glass. He picked up the bottle and asked through gesture if Emma wanted more. She shook her head and finished off what she had. Phil emptied the remaining champagne onto the ground and packed the bottle back into his saddlebag. He did the same with their glasses, the napkins, and the cork, packing out everything they had packed in.
Emma climbed back on Daisy. "So, have you sensed Granny around lately?"
"Who do you think helped me pick out your anniversary present?"
"What anniversary present?"
"You're sitting on it."
"Daisy?"
"Happy anniversary, Fancy Pants. You are officially a horsewoman. We'll keep Daisy in our stable for you with our horses." Phil whistled to the dogs and mounted Astro. "Unless, of course, you don't like her."
Emma squealed with delight. "No, Phil, she's perfect."
She leaned over toward Phil. He cozied Astro up to Daisy and met Emma halfway for a thank-you kiss.
"But how did Granny help you pick out Daisy?"
He laughed. "Granny and I have developed our own communication system. We don't need a mediator." When he saw Emma's puzzled look, he continued. "It's simple. I ask Granny a yes or no question. If it's yes, she blows into my right ear. If it's no, she blows into my left ear."
"Ghosts don't have breath, Phil; they can't blow anything anywhere, although I've known them to create air currents or gusts."
"Well, somehow she moves the air on one side or the other to get her point across. I'd narrowed your gift down to between two horses. Granny cast the final vote for Daisy." He gave Emma a blunt nod. "So if the nag throws you, blame Granny."
Emma stared at Phil, stunned that he and Granny had figured out how to communicate between themselves without her, then reminded herself with a smile that Phil wasn't just smart, he was resourceful. "Are you sure it's Granny you're talking to? If you can't hear or see her, who knows who you might be conversing with. Might be the ghost of Pancho Villa or even Richard Nixon."
"Or maybe it's the spirit of Marilyn Monroe," he shot back at her. "I wouldn't mind that one bit."
Emma was about to say something sassy when her cell phone vibrated. She pulled it out of her pants pocket and looked at it. "It's Kelly." She hit the answer button. "Kelly?"
After a few seconds, Emma gave up and ended the call. "Darn, no decent reception up here."
"We'll be home soon. Hope it's nothing important."
"Before I left the cabin I emailed her, asking if she'd heard anything from Lainey Naiman lately. I'm pretty sure they're still in touch, though I'm not sure how often."
Phil had pointed Astro toward home but now turned his mount around to face Emma and Daisy. "What happened to not wanting to be involved?"
"I'm just curious, that's all."
"Uh-huh." He directed Astro back down the trail. "Then I'm sticking to the story that Marilyn Monroe helped pick out that horse."
three
As soon as they returned to the ranch, Phil told Emma to go call Kelly. He and Hector Mendoza, a strapping local high-school boy who worked at the ranch part-time, would take care of the horses. Working on the ranch was a Mendoza family tradition. Two brothers before Hector had held the job, each relinquishing it to the next in line when the current one went off to college or entered a full-time career. No longer a working ranch, Phil's family now leased out most of their land and kept just a few acres and a handful of horses for themselves.
Emma handed Hector the reins to Daisy and redialed Kelly while she strolled toward the house. Kelly's voicemail kicked in as Emma climbed the steps to the redwood deck at the back of the house. Baby and Sweetie Pie had run ahead of her and were now on the deck slurping at their water bowl while Killer, the family's tiny bichon frisé, danced and yipped excitedly from the other side of the closed patio door to welcome everyone home.
"Kelly, it's Mom," Emma said to the machine. "Sorry, we were out riding, and the reception was awful. Give me a call back." Kelly was Emma's twenty-year-old daughter. She lived in Boston, finishing up her sophomore year at Harvard.
The back patio slider door opened, and Killer made a beeline for Emma. Happy to see her, the little dog danced on his hind legs for attention. After a few pats, he sniffed around her like a bloodhound.
"He's looking for Archie," explained Susan Steveson, Phil's aunt, as she came through the patio door with a tray holding glasses of lemonade. "And Granny."
"Sorry, pal," Emma said to the white ball of fluff at her feet as she took a seat at the large wooden patio table, "but Archie stayed home this time." Killer sat at her feet looking up at her, his black button eyes bright with expectation, as if she might pull Archie out of her pocket at any moment.
Archie, the black Scottish terrier belonging to Emma's parents, often traveled with her to Julian. He'd made friends with the Bowers animals, especially Killer. Granny was also a hit with the dogs and played with them regularly. Like Emma, the animals could see and hear ghosts.
Emma shrugged at the determined animal. "Not sure where Granny is these days."
"She pops in and out," answered Susan, putting the tray down on the table in front of Emma. "But I don't think she's been around for a while."
Emma looked at Susan with surprise. "Don't tell me you chat with her like Phil does."
Susan laughed. "No, it still creeps me out, though not as much as it used to." She lowered her plump, sturdy body into a chair at the table and pushed her glasses higher up on the bridge of her nose with one finger. "But I know when she's here because of the way the dogs behave, especially Killer. He dances and runs around like he's playing all by himself."
She looked down at Killer, who'd finally realized Emma was alone and laid down on the deck to pout. "But we know better, don't we, boy?"
Susan took a glass from the tray. "So, you like Daisy?"
A wide smile crossed Emma's face as she helped herself to a glass of lemonade. "I love Daisy." Emma looked out across the property toward the stable. "Hard to believe it's already been two years since I first came to your door."
"Yes, a lot of water's gone under the bridge since my nephew tried to run you off the property." Susan chuckled. Phil's aunt was an optimist with a healthy dose of reality. "Glad you persisted. You both seem so much happier these days."
Emma reached out and briefly touched Susan's arm with affection. "Yes, Susan, I'd say we are. Both of us were going through ugly divorces then, and look where we are now."
"You think that nephew of mine and you will ever live under one roof?"
The question surprised Emma. Susan wasn't one to meddle in other people's business. Neither was Elizabeth Miller, Emma's mother, yet both had asked the same question in less than two weeks. Emma knew that Susan and her mother had become friends. Now she wondered if they were in cahoots in other ways.
"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.
"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 white 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.
"If so, it would explain why she was willing to break the bank for you to get rid of him." Vegetables done, Phil poured the egg mixture into the pan. "You want an omelet, or should I just scramble it all up?"
"Scrambled is fine with me."
Emma hovered over the toaster, thinking about the Naiman family as she watched the red-hot coils do their job. "I find it difficult to believe Max would intimidate his own daughter into killing herself. They were quite close, as I recall. Whenever there were parent meetings or programs at school, it was always Max who showed up, not Joanna."
"Maybe her schedule was less flexible."
"Every time? Grant almost always came with me to school functions. He may be a jerk, but until he married Carolyn and started a second family, he was always a good father and there for Kelly."
The toast popped just as Phil was dividing the eggs between two plates. He placed them on the counter, in front of two stools. Emma put the toast on a small separate plate and added it to the meal before retrieving silverware and napkins. She took the opportunity to glance out the window at the porch.
"The rocking ghosts still out there?" asked Phil.
"Nope. The chairs are both still."
They ate a few minutes in silence, each savoring the simple, cozy meal, before Phil brought up the Naimans again. "My offer's still good if you want me to see if I can get the official report on Max Naiman's death."
"Who knows, that might be a help." Emma took a sip of her coffee and looked up at Phil. He was grinning.
"I'm not involved, Phil. I'm just going to go visit my daughter's friend to bring her some comfort."
"Uh-huh." Phil brushed his moustache with his fingertips and stared at Emma, his eyes twinkling. "Tell me that again after you've seen the girl."
Emma almost threw her toast at him.
five
Serenity Place was a residential facility for the treatment of emotional issues, located in the beautiful hills above San Clemente. The morning after they spoke on the phone, Emma received the information from Kelly about Lainey's whereabouts. She'd been happy to see it was located closer to Julian than to Los Angeles. That same morning she called Serenity to inquire about its visitation policy. After giving her name and relationship to Lainey, Emma was put on hold. When the woman on the phone returned, she advised Emma that while most visitation occurred on Sundays, Ms. Naiman had an hour of free time that afternoon at three o'clock.
The facility was lovely, though not as posh as where most of Hollywood went to get their heads screwed back on. The grounds encompassed acres of rolling hills and looked like a family resort, with small, peach-colored bungalows scattered around a large main building and a few smaller buildings. There were gardens; a swimming pool, gym, and spa; and art and music rooms. Paved paths edged with clusters of flowers led to the bungalows and other buildings. The Pacific Ocean could be seen in the distance.
When she first arrived, Emma had waited in the lobby until someone went to fetch Lainey. When the young woman saw Emma, she was clearly happy.
"Kelly is still in Boston," Emma explained, "so I hope you don't mind that it's me visiting."
"Not at all, Mrs. Whitecastle." Lainey fiddled with the ends of a clump of her long hair. "I ... I just didn't realize anyone knew I was here."
When Lainey seemed unsure of what to do, Emma held out her arms, inviting a hug. After a brief hesitation, Lainey stepped into Emma's embrace. Once there, the young woman clung to her like a life preserver for nearly half a minute. Emma stroked the girl's hair, as she would have done to Kelly, until Lainey pulled away. She did not appear sedated.
"I believe Kelly found out you were here from Summer Perkins."
"Summer?" Lainey's mouth twitched. "If Summer knows, then I guess everyone knows by now." She shrugged. "People were bound to find out, no matter how hard my mother tries to hide it."
Emma changed the subject, not sure she wanted to talk about Joanna---at least not yet. "Serenity looks charming, Lainey. Why don't you show me around?"
The two women started down one of the paths, passing a group of people being led through a yoga class by a young African-American man with dreadlocks. Lainey waved. He smiled and waved back.
"That's Jamal," she explained. "He's pretty cool. I usually take one of his morning classes."
A little farther along, they saw a tiny older woman sitting in front of an easel, painting. Sitting cross-legged on the ground next to her was the spirit of an elderly man. Lainey waved to the woman, who smiled and hoisted the brush in her right hand to return the gesture. The ghost at her feet waved to Emma.
"Who is that woman?" Emma asked.
"Her name is Mrs. Tapinsky---Ruth Tapinsky. She came here three months ago, shortly after she saw her husband murdered. I was told it was during a home robbery." Lainey turned her head to look back at the woman. "Ruth hasn't spoken a word since it happened."
"She seems friendly, though."
"Very friendly, except for the talking thing."
"You like her a great deal, don't you?"
Lainey smiled. "Yes. She's eighty-seven, and her eyes aren't that great, so I read to her a few nights a week."
"But she paints, even with bad eyes?"
Lainey leaned close. "Between her eyes and her arthritis," she whispered, "she's not that good of a painter, but she loves doing it, and I think it helps her grieving process."
Emma put a hand lightly on Lainey's back. "You have a good heart, Lainey. Don't ever lose that."
Several steps later, they passed two picnic tables. At one, two men---one young, one middle aged---sat playing chess. They also smiled and greeted Lainey.
"This place seems to suit you, Lainey."
"My mother tried to ship me off to some fancy facility in Baja, but I checked myself into here. I have money of my own, money I inherited from my father's estate when I turned eighteen. I can go anywhere I want."
"But why here, Lainey? Isn't there a place like this nearer to your mother?"
"Yes---two, in fact---but she was adamant that I not go to one of those. She was so afraid one of her friends would see me, and how would she explain that? Joanna Reid's daughter in a nut house." Lainey held out her arms as if making an announcement. "News at eleven! It was either Baja or find a place on my own."
Emma looked around at the sprawling green grass lawn and manicured shrubs. "This is hardly a nut house, Lainey."
"My doctor suggested Serenity." She glanced around like a princess taking in her realm. "They've been very nice to me here. Very down-to-earth and helpful."
She pointed to a two-story building standing next to the larger main building. "That's where they keep the really messed-up patients. You know, those that need constant watching and monitoring. I was there about a week when I first arrived. Now I'm in a bungalow." Emma noted that Lainey didn't seem at all self-conscious about being in the facility. "The bungalows are triplexes that share small patios. Ruth is in one of the other rooms in my bungalow."
Emma stopped walking. "How long have you been here?"
The girl took a deep breath, her eyes rolling up as she did the math in her head. "It's been just over a month, I think."
A month. Emma looked at the young woman who used to drink cocoa with Kelly while doing homework. A girl who told Emma about her first kiss long before she'd said anything about it to her own parents. "How much longer will you be here?"
Another shrug. "My doctor thinks I'll be ready to go home soon."
"You don't sound convinced."
"I'm not sure what I have to go home to."
They had arrived at a patio by the pool. The pool was a long rectangle with lane lines painted on the bottom. It was surrounded by a high fence---a reminder of the safety precautions needed in such a place. In the pool, a young woman was conducting a small water aerobics class. Just beyond the pool were a couple more picnic tables situated under a few shade trees.
"Why don't we sit and visit?" Emma suggested.
Lainey nodded, and they settled in at one of the tables, Emma wishing she had on shorts like Lainey and not a cotton dress. Still, she managed to swing her legs over the bench seat in a fairly lady-like motion.
"Mrs. Whitecastle," Lainey began.
"Call me Emma." She smiled. "After all, you're all grown up and, I understand, nearly a married woman."
Lainey avoided looking at Emma. "I'm not sure that's going to happen. Not now." It was the first time she showed any sign of sadness.
"I had lunch with your mother yesterday. When I said something about the engagement, she never said it was off."
Lainey shot her a look of suspicion. "Did my mother ask you to come here?"
"Lainey, I'm here because Kelly heard you tried to kill yourself. She asked me to visit you, not your mother." Emma smiled and touched Lainey's hand. "And I wanted to come as soon as I heard. Your mother never mentioned to me that you were here."
The look softened. "Kelly was my best friend until my mother sent me away to school."
"She's still a close friend. She's very worried about you, as am I." Emma paused. "Did you really try to take your own life?"
Lainey took a very deep breath, her chest rising as her lungs filled with the fresh air. She looked away as color washed over her cheeks.
"I'm sorry, Lainey. I'm afraid I've overstepped my bounds. I shouldn't be prying like this."
Slowly Lainey shook her head, still not looking at Emma. "No, I want to tell you ... Emma. I think it will do me good. My mother has never asked much about it. It will be like trying to explain it to her." Lainey got up and took a few steps to one of the nearby trees. She leaned against it, looking out toward the horizon, where the ocean met the sky, melding two different shades of blue into one as deftly as the brushstroke of a talented artist. "Maybe you can go back and tell her what I couldn't."
"But she must know."
"She knows I tried to kill myself, but she never wanted to hear about what actually happened."
The scenery was peaceful, but Emma was horrified that Lainey hadn't spoken to her mother in depth. If Kelly had tried to end her life, Emma would have been all over it, wanting to know the details of how and why---especially trying to get to the root of the why. She reminded herself not to judge Joanna too harshly. People responded to tragedy in different ways, but it still sickened her like a bad stench.
"The first time I tried to kill myself," Lainey began, still not looking at Emma, "the day began like any other. I got out of bed, showered, shampooed, brushed my teeth. Three hours later I was driving my car toward one of those concrete walls that border the freeway." She finally turned to Emma. "That was about two months ago."
Emma tried to listen without displaying the shock she was feeling. Her gut was like an unbalanced washing machine trying to clean a heavy pair of sneakers. She steadied herself, understanding that if Lainey picked up on her discomfort, she might not continue.
"Perhaps you fell asleep at the wheel."
"No." Lainey returned to the table and swung her long, tanned legs over the bench to face Emma. "I clearly remember turning the car and heading straight for the wall. At the last second, I pulled the steering wheel to the left. The car hit the wall, but not head-on. The car spun out of control and slammed back around and hit the wall again."
"You were fortunate you weren't killed."
"That's what I'm told." The words changed to deadpan, as if the girl didn't care one way or the other about death. "I was banged up but okay. A couple weeks later I almost did the same thing. It was late at night. I was returning home from visiting a friend and was driving along PCH just south of Point Magu. All of a sudden I got this overwhelming urge to slam my car through the barrier and into the ocean. "
The loud gasp escaped Emma's lips before she could stop it.
"I know what you're thinking," Lainey said before Emma could speak. "You're thinking like father, like daughter."
Emma wasn't about to lie. "Yes, initially, but you weren't drunk, were you? And you didn't go over the cliff."
"No, Emma." Lainey paused and studied Emma like a curious puppy. "That doesn't feel right. Can I go back to calling you Mrs. Whitecastle?"
"Of course. Whatever makes you more comfortable."
"I wasn't drunk," she insisted. "I'm not much of a drinker. I hadn't had anything alcoholic in days, maybe longer. But like with the wall, I felt compelled to do it, like I was being told or ordered to do it. At the last minute, I snapped out of my zombie daze and turned the wheel, just like the time before. The barrier scraped the entire right side of my new BMW."
Emma clutched her hands together. Could it be that Max Naiman was trying to kill his own daughter, or was Lainey suffering from a real psychosis?
"My mother about went berserk when she found out about the second car. She insisted I see a shrink, which I did. And things were better until about five or six weeks ago, shortly before I came here."
Emma was almost afraid to ask but did. "And what happened then?"
"I almost succeeded."
"Another car accident?"
Lainey shook her head slowly back and forth while lifting the right side of her knit jersey. Just below her breast was a large cotton bandage. She leaned back so Emma could get a good look.
"Fourteen stitches, though the stitches are out now." She made the announcement in a tone as dry as hot sand. "I was holding a chopping knife, cutting vegetables for dinner, when I had this urge to stab myself."
"More voices or orders?"
"Yes. At least I think so."
Again Lainey got up from the table. She crossed her arms in front of herself as if chilly. Emma's eyes scanned the area, wondering if there were spirits present, especially Max.
"I'm up here, Emma."
In a slow movement, Emma looked up toward the voice, pretending to weigh Lainey's words. At first she couldn't see him, but finally her eyes distinguished the figure of the ghost of Max Naiman. He was sitting on the low branch of the largest tree, swinging his legs back and forth like an impish five-year-old. Emma wanted to speak with him but knew she couldn't with Lainey present.
"This time, though, it was really weird," Lainey continued.
Emma returned her attention to Lainey.
"I was looking down, watching the knife get closer and closer to my chest ... to my heart ... like I was a bystander instead of the one it was happening to and doing it."
Lainey uncrossed her arms and pretended to hold a knife in a double grip, its tip aimed at her heart. Chills vibrated down Emma's spine like she was watching a horror movie, and to her, she was.
"It felt like something was holding my hand back," Lainey explained. "Like I was struggling with myself for control of the knife and losing. Just before it went in, my body jerked to the left, and the knife tore into my right side. There was a lot of blood but nothing serious." She looked up, not realizing she was staring directly at the ghost of her father. "It almost felt like someone pushed me out of the way, but I was alone."
Lainey relaxed her arms. "It was after that Mom decided I should be shipped off to a nut house."
Emma started to say something, but Lainey held up a hand to stop her. "I know, I know. This is not a nut house." She leaned forward, putting both of her hands flat on the table, determination showing on her face for the first time. "But let's face it, Mrs. Whitecastle, it really is."
Emma studied Lainey's face. It was fresh and pretty, with smooth olive skin, large brown eyes, a perky nose, and full rosy lips. An awkward girl, she'd grown into a beautiful woman. Only the girl's eyes belied the fear she was suppressing.
"Lainey, do you actually hear someone telling you to do these things?" Emma glanced up. Max was still in the tree, but his legs were motionless as he listened to his daughter.
"You think I'm nuts, don't you? Like everyone else." Lainey straightened. "And maybe I am."
"I'm not judging you, dear. I just want to know if you really hear the voices."
After crossing her arms again, Lainey turned her back on Emma and stared out at the blue horizon. "No, not audibly anyway." She turned back. "It's like I'm two people, and one of me is trying to destroy the other."
"Do you still get those urges?"
"Not since I've been here."
"And what about your fiancé? What does he think of all this?"
At the mention of her fiancé, tears started dripping down Lainey's cheeks as if on cue. Emma got up and went to her. The young woman sobbed against Emma's shoulder.
"I love Keith so much, Mrs. Whitecastle. But how can I marry him like this? How could he ever want me, knowing how unstable I am?"
Kelly had filled her mother in on Keith Goldstein, Lainey's fiancé, when she'd told her about Lainey's engagement a few months earlier. A premed student, Keith had met Lainey at a party last fall. Kelly had met him when she was home for the holidays and had found him both smart and likeable.
"What does Keith say about all this?"
Lainey pulled away. "At first he was very concerned and thought maybe I had blacked out while driving. He's premed at UCLA."
Emma nodded. "Kelly told me that."
"He nagged me into getting a complete physical, but my doctor found nothing physically wrong with me." She took a deep breath. "When it happened a second time, the doctor ran more tests, and I also went to a therapist. The therapist thought it might have something to do with my father---some sort of delayed reaction, especially since it involved running a car off the road."
Emma shot a look at the tree, but Max was gone. "Had anything like this ever happen before?"
Lainey shook her head quickly back and forth, her long dark hair swaying. "I was destroyed when my father died. It was horrible. And after my mother sent me away, I was miserable for the first year; I was so lonely. But I've never thought about killing myself."
Lainey took a seat back at the table. This time she sat facing out and leaned back against the table top. "Through all this Keith was great. He was so concerned about me. But when I stabbed myself---" She stopped and looked down, her hair covering her face. Emma could hear sniffles.
"After the stabbing," Lainey continued, "he said it was obvious to him I didn't want to get married." She looked up at Emma, her face streaked with tears. "He said whether I knew it or not, I'd rather die than marry him."
"Why would he think that?"
"Because it started right after we got engaged. The first accident happened less than two weeks after he gave me the ring. Oh, Mrs. Whitecastle," Lainey wailed. "Keith said horrible things to me after the stabbing."
Emma sat down next to Lainey, who was now sobbing into her hands, and put an arm around the girl.
"He said I was like one of those animals ... you know ... the ones who'd rather chew off their leg than be trapped. I got so mad I threw my engagement ring at him and told him to go to hell."
"Did you feel trapped, Lainey?"
She dropped her hands and looked up at Emma with genuine surprise. "Absolutely not. I loved Keith; I still do. I knew I wanted to marry him two weeks after we met." She wiped her face with the back of her hand and sniffed. "Ask Kelly. I told her that when I saw her in December."
"Where's Keith now?" Emma dug into her purse and pulled out a tissue and handed it to Lainey.
After cleaning herself up, Lainey continued. "We moved in together right after New Year's. I own a condo near campus. It was convenient for both of us."
"He's still in the condo?"
"He started staying with a friend, another guy at school, after we broke off our engagement, but when I decided to come here I told him to stay in the condo while I was gone. It would be better for his studying, especially so close to the end of the school year. After school ends, he'll move out." Again the tears started.
Emma was almost to her SUV when she heard someone call her name. She turned to see a thick, older woman wearing a white lab coat and white orthopedic shoes walking toward her with surprising energy, in spite of a slight limp.
"Mrs. Whitecastle, a moment, please," the woman called.
Walking back through the parking lot, Emma met the woman halfway.
"Mrs. Whitecastle," the woman said, "I'm so glad I caught you. I'm Dr. Garvey, Kitty Garvey, Lainey's doctor here at Serenity Place." She held out her hand to Emma, and Emma shook it.
"You're the facility's resident doctor?"
"Actually, my husband, Dr. Michael Garvey, and I own and operate it." She smiled. "Everyone calls me Dr. Kitty. He's Dr. Mike."
Dr. Kitty had a wide, friendly face, with lined cheeks and fluffy silver hair. Rectangle-shaped glasses with red plastic frames perched on her nose, secured by a multicolored beaded chain that hung around her neck.
"Do you have a moment?" the doctor asked Emma. "It's about Lainey."
Emma became alarmed. "She said she's doing much better. Is that not the case?"
"Oh, no, she is doing much better." The doctor smiled. "She's such a charming young woman, isn't she? The residents and staff both love her to bits." The doctor paused and adjusted her glasses. "I understand you've known her a long time---that you're the mother of one of her childhood friends."
"That's right. I've known Lainey since she was a little girl."
"Do you intend to come back and visit her?"
"Should I not?" Before Dr. Kitty could answer, Emma added, "I know she got upset during my visit today, but I think it did her good."
"It did her a great deal of good, I'm sure." The doctor paused. "Mrs. Whitecastle, let me be blunt. You're the first person who's visited Lainey since she's been here. When you called today and inquired about visitation, I was standing in the reception area. I told the desk clerk to give you special permission to visit today during our afternoon free time instead of waiting until Sunday, our usual visiting day."
"Joanna Reid, Lainey's mother, hasn't been here?" Emma's anger toward Joanna threatened to boil like a teakettle.
"No, I'm afraid not. She hasn't even called. Lainey's young man called a couple of times when she first got here, but not lately." The doctor pursed her lips. "Lainey has mentioned you and your family in our talks. I think it would be good for her if you visited again."
"Of course, Doctor." Emma considered an idea she had while speaking with Lainey. "In fact, I was thinking of inviting her to my cabin in Julian for a visit. It's about ninety minutes from here. It's peaceful, and I have access to horses. As I recall, Lainey used to ride when she was a girl."
The doctor beamed. "I know Julian well. Dr. Mike and I go there every year for their apple festival."
"Can Lainey leave the facility?"
"She can leave anytime she wants, although I think she still needs a bit more time with us, at least until we're sure she's going home to a stable environment. But for a short weekend, I think it would do her a world of good to visit you in Julian."
"How about next weekend?" Emma suggested. "I can pick her up on Friday afternoon and bring her back on Sunday evening."
"Before we tell Lainey, how about you and I talk by phone later in the week. Let's see how she's doing before we get her too excited."
In agreement, Emma pulled a business card out of her purse and wrote her cell number on the back, as she had with Joanna. She handed it to the doctor. "Call me anytime, Doctor, about anything having to do with Lainey."
Dr. Kitty studied the card. "You're that Whitecastle? The one who does those shows on the paranormal?"
Emma nodded, pleased the doctor hadn't asked if she was related to Grant Whitecastle or the burger company. "Yes, that's me. Do you watch the show?"
"Goodness, no. I've just heard about it from several friends who enjoy it. They'll be tickled to find out I've met you in person." The doctor leaned in and whispered. "Please don't be offended, but personally I think it's a lot of hooey."
Hooey nor not, Max Naiman chose that moment to show himself again. He didn't materialize completely, but Emma definitely discerned a slight outline of haze standing next to the doctor.
"Fix this, Emma," Max said, his face narrowed with concern. "Please."
six
"Simmer down, you're going to bust a button." Granny studied Emma with her signature scowl.
"But Granny, Lainey's own mother hasn't called or visited her in a month. Doesn't that get your goat?"
"Of course it does. That poor child needs a mother at a time like this. Good thing you visited."
"But I'm not her mother," Emma stressed. "She should have her own mother, not some standin."
"From what you've told us so far about Joanna Reid," said Phil, only hearing Emma's side of the conversation, "in this case, the understudy is much better than the original. At least I know you're a wonderful mother."
They were seated on the porch of the cabin. Phil and Emma were dressed to go into town for the dinner at the Julian Grill they'd skipped the night before. Emma was perched on the porch railing. Granny was fully materialized and seated in a rocker next to Phil. She rocked gently back and forth, the chair barely moving under her spirited power. The empty rocker to Granny's left was not moving at all.
"Where's Jacob tonight?" Phil asked, noting the still rocker.
Granny glanced at the chair. "He'll come around after you folks leave for your supper." Emma relayed the answer to Phil.
Phil feigned hurt. "What? He doesn't like our company?"
"What he likes is peace and quiet," the ghost answered. "He's not gonna have that with the three of us yammering like magpies about this poor girl." Again, Emma acted as interpreter.
Granny gripped the arms of her rocker and looked at Emma dead-on. "So, chief, what's our assignment?"
Emma nearly fell off the railing with surprised laughter.
Phil sprang from his chair to steady her. "You going to fill me in, or do I have to play twenty questions with Granny?"
Once Emma stopped laughing enough to catch her breath, she repeated what Granny had said. Laughing himself, Phil turned to the chair he assumed held the ghost. "Granny, you do say the damndest things. Where do you come up with this stuff?"
Emma ran a hand over her face. "From TV, where do you think? Now that it's not football season, my mother says Granny has become addicted to crime dramas."
Granny stopped rocking and twisted her face into an even deeper scowl. "Now just a cotton-picking minute. Who do you think turns on the TV and watches them shows with me? It ain't Dr. Miller, that's for sure."
After being fed Granny's comment, Phil buried his face in the side of Emma's neck, just below her ear. His laughter tickled her skin. "She has a good point, chief," he said, his breath warm on her neck. "Your mother is her enabler."
Playfully Emma pushed Phil away. "Enabler or not, there is no assignment." Emma looked directly at the ghost when she spoke. "You got that, Granny? We're simply going to help Lainey through these tough times if we can."
Granny was not happy. "But what about that ghost haunting her mother? He could be haunting Lainey, too."
"That ghost is Max, Lainey's father. And while I'd hate to think he's causing his daughter's suicide attempts, it does seem Lainey is having some paranormal experiences and doesn't realize that's what they are."
Seeing that both Phil and Granny were giving Emma their undivided attention, Emma continued. "I questioned Lainey about what she remembers right before each attempt on her life. Each time she remembers feeling very cold."
"So if it is Max making her do this stuff," Phil said, "it means she can hear him."
"Not necessarily," Emma explained. "When I asked her about the voices, she said it wasn't something she heard as much as something she felt. Like she felt driven to kill herself---almost as if she were obeying some unseen master."
"Evil master," added Granny.
"I agree, Granny. Whatever is causing her to do these things is evil."
Phil shook his head. "It's unconscionable that a parent, even the ghost of a parent, would do such a thing to his own daughter."
Emma's face turned sober. "Parents have been known to do horrible things to their children, Phil. Or don't you read the news?"
"But I thought you said Max was a good dad when he was alive."
"He was, at least that I could see. But who knows what happened right before his accident or after he died."
Granny shook her head at Emma's comments. "I've never known any spirit changing from being a decent sort while alive to being evil after death. Death might take them by surprise and they may be upset for a bit, but in time they get over it. But if a person was nasty in life or angry about something at the time of their death, there's a good chance they'll be a nasty spirit. Remember that Mrs. Manning? Her ghost was spiteful. Lainey's mother sounds like she might be a humdinger in the afterlife, too, if she don't change her spots."
After Emma's translation, Phil looked at Granny. "So whatever you were in life is how you spend eternity?"
"Not always, but for the most part," answered Granny. "Though I've seen some not-so-nice spirits become quite pleasant after a while. If a person does change after they die, it's more likely they were unhappy while alive and find peace in death. Rest in peace ain't just some saying you carve into a headstone."
Emma repeated Granny's words to Phil.
"So," Phil began after digesting Granny's explanation, "if Max Naiman was a good and loving dad while alive, it's unlikely he'd harm his daughter now."
Granny got up and went to Phil's side. Standing on tiptoe, the tiny ghost blew into his right ear.
Phil winked at Emma. "There's my answer."
Open mouthed, Emma stared at the two of them. "Unbelievable."
When Granny took her seat in the rocker again, Emma told them about seeing Max. "Max showed up today when I was visiting Lainey. He didn't say a word, just watched her, almost like a guardian angel. When I was leaving he showed up, but I couldn't say anything to him in front of Dr. Garvey without looking like a wingnut."
"Did Max say anything?" asked Granny.
Emma nodded, still lost in thoughts of Max Naiman. "His parting words to me were fix this."
Phil looked surprised. "Weren't those the same words he said at the restaurant?"
"Yes. Guess they were meant for me after all, except this time he said 'please.'"
After a few beats of silence, during which Emma thought about Max and Lainey, she turned her full attention to her present company. "I hate to cut our weekend short, Phil, but I need to head back to LA tomorrow morning. There are two people I want to talk to before Monday, if I can---Joanna Reid and Keith Goldstein."
"I thought Joanna didn't give you her contact information."
"She didn't, but Lainey did, as well as Keith's."
"You going to run this by Milo, too?"
Emma shook her head. "Milo left yesterday for a series of paranormal retreats in England. He's one of the presenters. Tracy went with him."
Tracy Bass was Emma's closest friend and a college professor. While Tracy couldn't see or hear ghosts, she was very interested in the paranormal. She and Milo Ravenscroft had met when Emma first started discovering her special talents, and the two had, in time, become lovers.
"I thought Milo hated stuff like that."
"Normally, yes, but this is more of an educational thing. They do two week-long retreats back-to-back with very small groups at some old castle. Tracy encouraged him to do it." Emma smiled. "Personally, I think Tracy just wanted a free vacation in England. After the retreat, they're going to do some traveling around the countryside."
Phil nudged a stray rock on the floor of the porch with his boot. "How about I come with you, then?"
"Why?"
"I'd feel better if you'd let me come along, Emma. These things tend to get you into hot water. I'd worry less by your side."
"But what about your work? You must be swamped getting ready to leave for your trip with the boys."
"I hadn't planned on doing much this weekend, and I'll bring along my laptop just in case I do need to address something. We can take separate cars, and I'll drive back to San Diego on Monday morning."
Emma smiled at him. "Are you sure?"
"I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't."
Emma put an arm around Phil's waist and snuggled. "It would be nice to spend the rest of the weekend together, and my parents would love to see you."
"Not to mention," Granny added, "they'd feel better knowing Phil had your back while you go snooping around."
Emma frowned at Granny. "I don't need Phil to watch my back, Granny."
"Yes, you do, you little fool. And tell him to bring his gun."
Emma stomped her right foot once on the ground. "And he's not bringing his gun."
Phil chuckled, easily filling in the gaps in the conversation without a translator. Emma slipped her arm away and turned to him, her hands on her hips. "You're not bringing it, are you?"
"I hadn't thought of it, but maybe it's not such a bad idea." One look at Emma and Phil amended his comment. "No, Fancy Pants," he assured her with a laugh and a soft stroke of her arm. "I'll leave my gun at home."
Emma gave him a quick, solid kiss. "Thank you."
"Humph." Granny got up again from her chair and started for the far end of the porch, her image beginning to fade. "You're both a couple of fools."
"Granny," Emma called to her. "There is something I'd like you to do for me, if you want."
The ghost spun around, her lined face wreathed with eagerness. "I knew there'd be an assignment." She floated back, coming to a halt in front of Emma and Phil. She looked up at Emma, her mouth pursed with purpose. "Shoot, chief."
seven
Linwood and Joanna Reid lived in a Beverly Hills mansion located north of Sunset Boulevard near Greystone Mansion. It was an imposing estate with a tall, thick white wall around the perimeter and a large iron gate guarding the entry.
Emma drove up to the gate, aligning her Lexus SUV with the security intercom. After hitting the buzzer, she announced her name, and the gates magically opened.
Phil, sitting in the passenger's seat, looked astounded. "Just like that, open sesame? I thought this woman didn't want to see you again."
Emma shot him a sly look as they drove through the gate and proceeded down the circular drive to the front of the magnificent house. "When I called Joanna this morning on the way back from Julian, she still didn't. So I applied a little pressure."
Catching a cocked eyebrow from Phil, she explained sheepishly, "I sort of blackmailed her---or threatened to. I told her I'd seen Lainey and that I'd tweet her whereabouts and circumstances on Twitter if Joanna didn't see me."
Phil was aghast. "But you'd never do that. Not in a million years."
"Of course I wouldn't, but Joanna doesn't know me well enough to know that." They pulled up just beyond the wide marble front steps, and Emma killed the engine. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. An hour later, she called back with a time to come by."
Unbuckling his seat belt, Phil asked, "Do you even have a Twitter account?"
Emma flashed Phil a coy smile and looked up at the huge house. "This is nothing like the home she had with Max in Malibu. It was large but charming and less ..." She stalled for words.
"Stuffy and pretentious?" Phil suggested. "I've been in museums smaller than this."
A middle-aged Latina in a maid's uniform answered the door and showed them in. The inside of the home was as elegant as the outside, with a double staircase and opulent furnishings. In the foyer, another maid was busy dusting. Fresh flowers and expensive sculptures adorned most of the tables. Impressive and important art covered the walls. Phil stopped at one painting, studied it, and gave off a low whistle.
The maid showed them through the house and out the back. Following a stone path through a carefully planned flower garden, they crossed the large, sloping lawn to a patio overlooking the pool, where they found Joanna seated at a table under a shade umbrella. She was wearing immaculately pressed walking shorts and a crisp cotton sleeveless blouse, both in white. A pair of designer sunglasses, different from those she wore Thursday, were in place. In front of her was a carafe of coffee and a single delicate cup and saucer.
When the maid asked if there was anything else Joanna required, Joanna waived her off. "Nothing, Bonita. They won't be staying long."
"Nice little place you have here," Phil observed. When Joanna didn't invite them to sit down, he pulled out a chair for Emma and took one for himself.
Joanna pulled down her sunglasses and scanned Phil top to bottom as if he were an item at a grocery store checkout. "And who might you be?"
Emma made the introductions. "This is Phil Bowers, a close friend. Phil, Joanna Reid."
Phil held out his right hand to Joanna. "I'm Emma's man-toy," he said in a deadpan voice.
Joanna offered up a tight-lipped smile but didn't take his hand. Instead, she readjusted her sunglasses and turned to Emma. "I see you traded up."
"That's the general consensus," Emma replied, remembering her suspicion that Joanna had once had an affair with Grant.
"Speaking of trading up," continued Emma, "this is certainly a lot more house than you had in Malibu."
Joanna looked around the flawless grounds. Her mouth remained a slit, not giving away her feelings. "Yes, Lin has lived here for years." She turned to look at Phil and Emma again. "I never did like that house in Malibu. It felt cramped, and there was no room for a proper garden."
Emma took her own look around the grounds, noting that the Malibu house would have fit into a corner of Joanna's present digs like a second garage.
Joanna took a sip of her coffee. "I heard you had to move back in with your parents, you poor dear."
"Not had to, Joanna, chose to. I own a home in Julian and split my time between there and Pasadena."
"Julian? Never heard of it."
Emma was glad Granny wasn't present. She took folks' not knowing about Julian very personally. "Julian is a lovely little town in the mountains north of San Diego." She turned and smiled at Phil. "Phil and his family are from there."
Joanna sneered. "How quaint."
"In fact," added Emma, getting ready to stir the pot, "Serenity Place is about halfway between Julian and Los Angeles." She turned again to Phil. "Isn't that right, Phil?"
"Almost to the mile if you take the 5 Freeway."
Joanna removed her sunglasses and glared at Emma. "All right, Emma Whitecastle," she hissed through perfect white teeth. "What the hell kind of game are you playing?"
"I'm not playing a game, Joanna. I don't play games when a young woman's life is involved."
Emma cleared her throat, giving herself time to control her emotions. "You're the one who called me up and ordered me to get Max's ghost out of your life. You're the one who implied his death wasn't an accident---that he killed himself. Yet you never told me poor Lainey has had three suicide attempts in the past few months. More importantly," Emma pointed an accusatory finger at Joanna, not caring one bit how rude the gesture was, "I understand you have not once visited your daughter or even called her. Are you punishing Lainey because she refused go to the facility you chose, the out-of-sight, out-of-mind place in Mexico?"
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"Next to you, Joan Collins is mother of the year."
"Bravo, Emma."
Emma's head snapped up in time to see the ghost of Max Naiman materializing. He slowly and silently clapped his hands as he walked toward them.
"Never knew you had that kind of spunk, luv."
As he had the day before, Max was wearing jeans and an open chambray shirt over a plain tee shirt, making Emma remember how often he wore that combination while alive. He'd been of average height, lean and muscular, with wavy black hair and naturally high cheekbones fashion models would drool over. At that instant it struck Emma how much Lainey looked like her father, except that Max had rugged good looks and his daughter's face was as smooth as a fresh peach. He ambled over to the table, as relaxed and laid-back in death as he had been in life. When he approached Joanna, she started to shiver. She reached for the white sweater on the back of her chair, but it slipped to the ground.
Phil got up. Retrieving the fallen sweater, he placed it gently across Joanna's shoulders, noting at the same time how chilly it was at her end of the table. Before returning to his seat, he caught Emma's eye over the top of Joanna's head. After cutting his eyes side to side, he shot her an inquiring look and mouthed, "Max?" She returned a slow, deliberate blink, hoping he took it as a yes; he did. Returning to his seat, he kept his senses sharp.
"It's over eighty degrees out, and I'm cold," Joanna complained in a shaky voice. "I must be coming down with something."
"The same bug you had at the Ivy?" Emma asked.
Clutching the sweater tight, Joanna stood up. "It's time for you to leave. Lainey is none of your business."
Max bent forward and placed his hands on Joanna's shoulders. Instantly she began to weep and sat back down, her imperious behavior dissolved into a puddle. He said something to his widow, but Emma couldn't hear it, though it was enough to cause Joanna to shake anew. Max laughed at her distress.
Looking directly at the ghost, Emma asked, "Why are you tormenting her?"
The ghost gave Emma a slow, lazy smile and started to fade. "I always liked you, Emma. You were good to my daughter. Be good to her now. She needs you."
Emma shot to her feet. "Wait, Max. I need to speak with you." But the ghost had disappeared.
"He's gone?" asked Phil.
"Yes."
Emma looked at Joanna, whose thin shoulders still vibrated from her soft crying. "What did Max say to you, Joanna, to get you so upset?"
Joanna raised her head. Taking off her sunglasses, she looked at Emma. Her tears were ruining her eye makeup. "He said something to me?"
Emma moved around to Joanna's side of the table. Perching on the edge, she studied the distressed woman. "You knew Max was here just now, didn't you?"
Joanna closed her eyes and moved her head up and down slowly.
"But you didn't hear him speak?"
"No." Joanna raised frightened eyes to Emma's. "What did he say?"
"I don't know, Joanna. I could see him whisper something into your ear, but I couldn't hear it."
Phil leaned forward, ready to put his attorney interrogation skills to work. "If you couldn't hear him, then why did you get so upset?"
Joanna's eyes shifted from Emma to Phil and back to Emma. "It was the way I felt. It's the way I feel every time."
"Tell us," encouraged Emma.
No longer cold, Joanna shrugged off her sweater. It fell between her back and the back of the chair. "Whenever I think Max's ghost is around, I get so cold---bone-chilling cold---and a weight presses on me until I think I cannot bear it; it's like I'm being smothered with something damp and cold like a heavy, wet blanket."
With shaking hands, Joanna picked up her coffee cup. It was almost empty. She reached for the carafe, but her hands were still shaking and her grip undependable.
Emma noticed and picked up the carafe, refilling Joanna's cup. "Could you feel a weight just now?"
Joanna picked up the cup with two trembling hands. "More than ever."
"He put his hands on your shoulders when you stood up and pressed down until you sat back down."
"Can ghosts do that? Touch you, I mean?" The fear in Joanna's eyes doubled.
"Look, Joanna," Emma began, keeping her voice calm. "I'm still learning about this stuff, but one thing I do know for sure is that ghosts cannot harm the living physically."
Joanna cast Emma a disbelieving look before taking a sip of her coffee.
"It's true," Emma assured her. "They can intimidate and frighten us." She thought of Granny. "They can even annoy or bring comfort. But they cannot physically harm us. Remember that."
Emma pushed off the table. Pulling a chair close to Joanna, she asked, "When exactly did Max start coming around? Was it before or after Lainey's first suicide attempt?"
Joanna nearly dropped her coffee cup. Emma reached out and placed her hand over Joanna's to steady it and guide it back to its saucer.
"You don't think he's behind Lainey's ...," she swallowed, "her problems, do you?" Joanna sounded genuinely shocked. She picked up a linen napkin from the table and started patting it around her smudged eyes. "I can't believe that. He adored Lainey."
"He's frightening you, why not her?" asked Phil.
"Because it wouldn't make sense," Joanna responded. "Max and I, well, we had our ups and downs, and for the couple of years before his death, it was mostly down. Affairs by both of us. His drinking. My nagging. A few months before he died, we decided to start over and recommit ourselves." She looked at Emma. "Don't you remember, Emma? We even restated our vows."
"That's right," Emma confirmed. "I remember now. You had a ceremony under a gazebo on the beach."
"Yes. We even had new wedding rings." Joanna started tearing up again. "Mine was a platinum band encrusted with diamonds, with a large solitaire in the center. His was this impressive band with a single large square-cut diamond, a vintage piece from an estate sale." She sighed deeply, lost in thought. "We were just beginning to be happy again when Max started falling apart."
"You mean his drinking?" asked Emma.
"Not at first. It started with erratic behavior. He was snappish and impatient with both me and Lainey, and he always seemed distracted. Then the drinking started up again." She cast her eyes down toward the peaceful swimming pool glistening in the sunlight like a large crystal sculpture. "The night he went over the cliff near Big Sur wasn't his first incident."
Emma was taken aback by the announcement. "He tried something like it before?" She glanced over at Phil and saw that his eyes were glued to Joanna, watching and weighing her words and facial expressions, checking for any flaws in her commentary.
"Not a car accident, but just a few weeks prior to that he went on a real bender. He used a bottle of thirty-year-old Scotch to wash down a bottle of sleeping pills."
Emma weighed the truth of Joanna's story. "I don't recall hearing about that."
Joanna gave up a sad chuckle. "Of course you didn't. The studio, his agent---everyone---managed to squelch it. He did it at the house in Malibu while I was at my office and Lainey was at school. His agent found him in our bedroom when he dropped by for a meeting. He called a private doctor. One used to dealing with celebrity screw-ups." Another sour laugh. "Had it happened today, with all the social media and bloodthirsty gossip mongers, it probably would have been all over the news." Joanna glanced at Emma. "Just like your ugly divorce."
Inside, Emma flinched, remembering how her personal life and the divorce battle with Grant had been featured on every celebrity news program, entertainment Internet blog, and supermarket checkout rag.
Joanna straightened in her chair. "We also caught a break because it happened on the same day Jan Banks decided to kill his pregnant wife."
Jan Banks---another Hollywood horror. Banks had been the star of a long-running TV prime-time game show. On the day the network announced it was canceling the show, Banks returned to his home in Bel Air, shot and killed his young wife, then turned the gun on himself. When it happened, it had dominated the news for days.
In his chair, Phil shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. "I remember that day."
Emma gave a slight nod. "Yes, me too. Jan and Grant were friends." She reached over and patted Joanna's arm. "I'm sorry, Joanna. I had no idea."
"A couple of weeks later, Max seemed almost his old self. He'd even stopped drinking. Driving over that cliff was the last thing any of us expected."
Joanna started to take a drink of her coffee but decided against it. "Lainey doesn't know about the pills, Emma. I'd like to keep it that way. We told her Max had an allergic reaction to something he ate and went into anaphylactic shock. He was horribly allergic to shellfish, so it was an easy sell. Max's death was difficult enough for her without adding an earlier cover-up."
Emma got up and went to the edge of the patio to think. It was a large area with several cozy arrangements of outdoor furniture, like a living room without roof or walls. She stood looking down the steps that led to the lower level and its large deck, cabana, and pool house. A few moments later, she returned to the table.
"Close to his daughter or not, you still don't think Max had anything to do with Lainey's suicide attempts? It seems too coincidental to me that he doesn't, especially if he showed up about the same time they started occurring."
"But you said ghosts can't hurt us."
"Not physically," Emma repeated, "but who knows what other influences they might be capable of. While I don't want to believe that Max is behind this, Lainey is being tormented by something. She told me each time she tried to kill herself, it felt like someone was telling her to do it."
Joanna looked aghast. "I didn't know that."
Emma fixed the other mother with an accusatory eye. "You would have if you'd taken the time to listen to the poor girl. Haven't you even checked with her doctors about her progress?"
With shaking hands, Joanna returned her sunglasses to her face. "I didn't want to know," she said in a clipped but quiet tone. "I couldn't bear it, and I had other very serious matters to consider."
"More serious than your own child?" Emma wanted to slap her.
"Halloooo," a man called from the house.
Phil and Emma turned toward the sound. Joanna didn't.
eight
Linwood Reid took the path from the house down to the patio at a confident clip. He was tall and lanky, dressed in conservatively colored golf apparel. On his head was a white cap from Hilton Head. He came toward them with a tall drink in his hand and a wide smile on his face.
"Hello, dear." Lin bent down and kissed his wife on her cheek. "I didn't realize you had company."
Emma could have sworn she saw Joanna recoil at her husband's touch. It wasn't a sharp jerk but a slight turn of her face and shoulders away from his affectionate gesture, an almost imperceptible tic.
"How was your game, Lin?" Joanna asked dutifully.
"Great. Won a whole three dollars from Gains and the boys." He laughed and winked at Emma and Phil. "High stakes, huh, folks? We each put a dollar in the pot. Winner gets the pot, a free drink, and bragging rights."
"Lin," Joanna said, "this is Emma Whitecastle and her friend Phil Bowers."
Phil stood and reached out a hand to the man. They shook. "I enjoyed that article about you in Forbes last month."
"You in finance, Phil?"
"Tax attorney down in San Diego."
Lin nodded agreeably and turned to Emma, appraising her physical appearance, fresh and inviting in a pale blue summer sheath. Clearly he liked what he saw. "Whitecastle? You related to that ass on TV?"
Considering both she and Grant had their own TV shows, Emma suppressed the urge to ask which Whitecastle ass Lin meant. Instead she said, "Grant Whitecastle and I divorced almost two years ago."
"Good for you. Never liked that tacky show of his."
Lin looked down at the table and noted the coffee for one. "We need to get you folks some refreshments." He pulled a cell phone from his pocket. "I'll call Bonita, and she'll be down here in a jiff. What'll you have?" He raised his crystal highball glass. "I'm having G & T. Sound good?"
"No, thank you, Lin," Emma said quickly. "We were just leaving."
"You sure? Won't take but a minute."
"No, thank you," confirmed Phil. "We need to shove off soon. We have another appointment."
With a look of disappointment, Lin put away his phone and folded his long body into the empty chair next to his wife, opposite Emma. He put down his drink and took off his cap to wipe his forehead with a white handkerchief pulled from a pocket. "Quite a scorcher on the links today."
Under his hat, Lin's hair was a damp mass of short gray waves. His face was tanned and lined with shallow ruts, like bicycle tire grooves in soft earth. Both his lips and nose were thin and irregular. He appeared to be quite a bit older than Joanna.
Lin's dark eyes were not nearly as congenial as his outward demeanor. Small and alert, like that of a rodent, they measured Emma and Phil as carefully as a fine tailor cutting expensive fabric. "I've never met you folks before. You old friends of Joanna's?"
"From a long time ago," Emma offered. "When Max was alive and I was married to Grant, we saw each other often. Our girls went to school together and are still great friends."
"Emma went to visit Lainey at that place." Joanna stared into her coffee cup when she spoke.
Lin laughed. "You mean that hippy-dippy place in San Clemente?"
"Serenity Place seemed quite lovely to me," challenged Emma. "And Lainey appeared content. Her doctor told me she's greatly improved."
Lin replaced his cap. "We tried to get her into a place that would provide real help, not some touchy-feely summer camp for spoiled brats."
"Lin, please." Joanna glanced at her husband. "Lainey wanted to go there, and she did. She's getting help, and that's all that matters."
"Help. Bah! All she's receiving is reinforcement of her bad behavior."
Lin turned his gaze from Emma to Phil, looking for confirmation of his opinion. He received none. "My stepdaughter is a drama queen, plain and simple."
Emma felt her eyes narrow in anger in spite of her attempt to keep her face a blank tablet. "You don't believe Lainey tried to kill herself?"
He weighed his thoughts like whole coffee beans before letting them spill. "I believe she tried to make it appear as if she were killing herself."
Lin leaned back in his chair and crossed one long leg casually over the opposite knee. "But, come on, we all seem to be reasonably intelligent people here. If someone really wanted to kill themselves, they would eat the barrel of a pistol or something irreversible like that." He raised his glass to make the point. "The first two attempts were clearly daddy rage, and the last was a joke." He took a long sip of his cool drink. "Who in the hell tries to stab themself?"
Phil asked dryly, "You've never heard of hara-kiri?"
Lin ignored the comment. "Just spoiled, unbalanced baby divas looking for attention, that's who does things like that."
Emma wasn't watching Lin. Her eyes were on Joanna's hands. While she appeared calm, her fingers were fidgeting with the china coffee cup as if it had a paper label that could be peeled off.
"Did you find that man as insufferable as I did?" While Emma talked, her fingers were flying, typing out a text message to Kelly on her phone.
At the wheel of Emma's SUV, Phil chuckled. "He was pretty full of himself, that's for sure." He glanced over at Emma. "What are you writing over there, a novel?"
"I'm asking Kelly if she's ever met Linwood Reid or if Lainey mentioned him to her."
"Remind me to find that Forbes article for you."
"I'd love to read it." Emma finished the text off with xoxox, Mom and put her phone away. "You didn't tell me you knew who he was."
"And you didn't tell me Joanna was married to Linwood Reid. You only said her last name was now Reid. Being married to him explains that palace of a house, though."
"Yes, that was pretty amazing. Both you and I live in lovely, large homes, but next to that, we might as well be living under an overpass of the 405 Freeway. Even that monstrosity I shared with Grant is a shack next to the Reid home."
The GPS in Emma's car directed Phil to turn left off of Sunset at the edge of the UCLA campus. "So who exactly is Linwood Reid?" she asked.
"He's some big global money guy. Built a fortune financing a variety of successful high-risk, high-return ventures, anything from treasure hunting to oil expeditions. He's also a major player in international construction and energy companies."
"Like Halliburton?"
"Not Halliburton, but companies like it. Although here's a trivia tidbit for ya." Phil flashed her a grin. "He's supposedly a close pal of Dick Cheney."
"A pal close enough to shoot?"
Phil laughed and turned left at another intersection, following the next instruction called out by the automated voice of the GPS. They were on their way to Lainey's condominium to see Keith Goldstein.
"Where did he make his seed money? You have to have money to start to turn it into money of his present magnitude."
"There's a lot of speculation on that. It's well known he was one of the pirates in the Enron mess."
"One of the executives?"
"No, one of the initial investors. One who bailed with a boatload of cash just before it all turned to shit."
"Just savvy or an inside tip?"
Phil shrugged. "Who knows. It was never proved he knew anything about the internal finances of the company." He made another turn onto Wilshire Boulevard. "There were also rumors of him being involved in selling guns overseas."
"What?" Emma nearly snapped her neck as she whipped around to stare at Phil.
"Again, nothing was proved, but the rumors claim he provided financial backing for international gunrunners and made an obscene amount of money."
"Wow. I may have traded up, but it seems Joanna didn't, at least not in character."
Phil blew her a loud, sloppy kiss.
"Speaking of wow." Phil pulled into a circular drive of a high-rise building on Wilshire Boulevard. "Are you sure this is where Lainey lives?"
"This is the address she gave me."
After the doorman directed them to visitor parking, they made their way into the marble-encased lobby to face the concierge.
"Yowza!" said the disembodied voice of Granny. "Is this a hotel?"
Emma turned to Phil and pretended to whisper something to him. "Nice time for you to show up, Granny. Max popped in at Joanna's, then popped out just as quickly."
"Hey," the ghost said with annoyance as heavy as her boots. "I've been trying to get him for ya, but it's not like he's standing around on the other side waiting for me to pick him out of a lineup."
Knowing this wasn't the time and place to argue with the cranky ghost, Emma plastered a smile on her face and turned to approach the dark-skinned young man at the desk. He gave her a gracious nod and closed-lipped smile. He was movie-star beautiful, with black slicked hair and intelligent eyes the color of dark roast coffee. His name tag said Shaheen.
"Shaheen, I'm Emma Whitecastle. I believe Elaine Naiman in 1202 called about giving me access to her apartment." Emma dug out her wallet and presented her ID to the man. He glanced at it, then checked something on the computer recessed into his desktop.
"Yes, Ms. Whitecastle," Shaheen said in a softly accented voice, "Ms. Naiman called yesterday with instructions. If Mr. Goldstein isn't at home, we're to give you a key."
He picked up a phone and punched in a number. After a few moments, he put the phone down. "It seems Mr. Goldstein is not in." Shaheen unlocked a cabinet in the desk console and from it plucked out a key and handed it to Emma. "You can take one of the two elevators to your left to the twelfth floor. Unit 1202 is all the way down the hall, an end unit."
Emma and Phil took the elevator. Granny had taken off again.
"When I was in college," Phil said during the ride in the mirror-walled elevator, "I shared a rundown two-bedroom house with three other guys. Our furniture was hand-me-downs from family, and our tables and bookcases were made from planks of wood and bricks."
"I know what you mean. My digs weren't that ... um ... rustic, but I did share a modest apartment with my cousin Marlene. It wasn't too far from here, but it was a world apart in amenities."
"That's right, you went to UCLA, didn't you, Fancy Pants?"
"Both Grant and I went there. We met during our junior year."
When the elevator doors opened, Emma immediately saw Granny. The ghost was in the midst of materializing. She stood just beyond the elevator, patting her foot on the hallway carpet with impatience.
"What's the matter, Granny?" Emma asked the ghost. "You didn't want to keep us company?"
"Don't like those darn contraptions, not one bit. They're like coffins that move."
Emma repeated the comment to Phil, who shivered and shook his head. "That's something to remember for our trip back down."
"I'm a bit confused," Phil said as they started walking down the quiet hallway with Granny floating alongside. "Did you tell Lainey you were coming here to interrogate her fiancé?"
"Not exactly."
Both Phil and Granny stopped and stared after Emma. "What exactly did you tell her?" Phil asked.
Emma stopped halfway down the hall. Just as she was about to say something, a door to her right opened and a slight, middle-aged man with thick black glasses with circular frames came out carrying a tiny orange Pomeranian. He smiled at Emma, then noticed Phil and nodded to him. The dog noticed Granny and started yipping with excitement.
"Baxter," the man clucked at the dog. "Shush." He turned his attention back to Emma and Phil. "Can I help you folks?"
"We're looking for number 1202," Emma told him.
He pointed in the direction they had been heading. "All the way down to the end, on your left."
Phil took Emma's elbow. "Thanks." They started back down the hall.
The man put Baxter down on the carpet, and the little dog went nuts, wagging his tail and pulling on his leash to follow Emma and Phil ... and Granny.
The man laughed. "Are you folks carrying raw filet in your pockets?"
Granny, sensing she was the problem, disappeared.
Phil chuckled. "The little guy must smell our animals. Between our horses and dogs, we have quite a zoo at home."
Picking up the excited dog, the man gave them a final smile and headed for the elevator.
Phil tugged gently on Emma's elbow. "So, what did you tell Lainey?"
"You're not going to drop this, are you?"
"Nope."
"I simply asked Lainey if there was anything she wanted from her apartment while I was up in Los Angeles. She was very grateful and gave me a short list of items, mostly makeup and a couple articles of clothing."
"Uh-huh. But you really wanted to get inside her place and see if you could get a sense of Max's presence, right?"
"Yes, and this seemed a good way to do it without alarming her." When they reached the door to 1202, Emma inserted the key. "I couldn't exactly ask her about her father's ghost, could I?"
"Lying, threatening folks with blackmail---doesn't quite sound like you, Fancy Pants."
She opened the door several inches, then stopped. "I'm sorry, Phil, if you're disappointed in me, but I did what I felt I had to do to help the girl."
"Don't get so defensive, Emma. I'm not disappointed---intrigued, yes. This is a side of you I haven't seen before. I find it rather fascinating." He paused long enough to plant a short kiss on her lips. "As long as you don't use those new talents on me."
"It's a deal, Cowboy."
"Are you two going to moon after each other all day or do some work?"
Emma turned to the ghost. "There you are, Granny. I thought you'd left."
"I did, but just until that fool dog got out of the way."
Phil pushed the door open.
"Wow!" exclaimed Phil, stepping inside Lainey's condominium just behind Emma. "Exactly how rich is this girl?"
nine
"Who knows? Max was no Johnny Depp, but at the time of his death he was bringing in between twenty-five and fifty million a year."
Phil stopped in his tracks. "How do you know?"
"I thought you read Forbes. Each year they publicize the top-earning actors in Hollywood."
"I must have missed that issue. Or else I blocked it out of my mind so as not to cause brain damage."
"Lainey said she received an inheritance on her eighteenth birthday. I'm sure that was substantial enough to fund this place."
They walked deeper into the apartment. The great room was huge and was partitioned off into a sitting area and formal dining area by the use of expensive area rugs over a glistening hardwood floor and clusters of sofas and chairs in bold colors and designs. A large table with enough textured fabric chairs to seat eight dominated the dining area.
"This doesn't seems like the home of a college student at all," noted Phil. "It looks straight out of a design magazine."
"This is hardly a crash pad, and I'll bet it was professionally decorated."
"Fancy-schmancy," added Granny. "I prefer Kelly's digs."
Emma turned on her heel to face Granny. "Kelly's? How do you know what Kelly's apartment looks like, Granny?"
"I meant her room at the Millers' house. Much more appropriate for a young woman in school."
Two walls of the great room were composed of floor-to-ceiling windows, providing a panoramic view of most of Los Angeles. The largest wall of glass was divided by a large natural-stone fireplace. Sliding doors led out to a wrap-around patio containing several lounge chairs, small tables, and charming potted plants.
The solid walls of the condo were painted a dark but muted yellow, almost a deep, soft gold, that played nicely with the furniture. A long mirror, framed in black, hung on the wall over a sofa. In the dining area, a matching mirror hung over a modern built-in buffet. Artwork on the walls was also framed in black.
In front of the largest sofa sat a square coffee table made of a huge slab of glass resting on a stone pedestal. In the middle was a tall, graceful orchid arrangement. On the table, scattered around the orchid, were glasses and beer bottles and a dish that had been used as an ashtray. It was then Emma noticed bits of clothing tossed about.
Identifying jeans, a tee shirt, and a skimpy top in the mess, Emma next picked up a hot pink lace bra from the arm of one sofa. "I guarantee Lainey did not leave this place like this a month ago."
Phil eyed the bra, one brow cocked in suspicion. "And even if she did, I'm sure this place comes with an experienced housekeeper who'd make sure stuff like this wasn't lying about."
Next to the sofa were two pairs of shoes---a pair of men's athletic shoes and a pair of high-heeled sandals. A few feet away from the sofa, almost to the doorway leading to a long hall, Emma toed a pair of bikini underwear that matched the bra.
She entered the hallway and peeked into the first room. It was a kitchen with state-of-the-art appliances, granite counters, and a nice-sized eating area. It was also a cluttered mess of dirty dishes, empty beer bottles, and glasses. On the counter were open bags of chips and half-eaten deli sandwiches, along with two empty pizza boxes.
"The food on the counter and dishes stacked in the kitchen aren't more than a day old," she reported when she returned to Phil. "Looks like a party went on here last night."
"Humph," scowled Phil. "While the cat's away, the fiancé will play."
"Ex-fiancé," Emma corrected. "But it still seems very thoughtless considering he's living in her luxurious apartment."
Granny came floating in from the hallway. "That bathroom is a wonder. Makes the ones at the Miller house seem like outhouses."
"I'll tell my mother that, Granny. She'll appreciate it, I'm sure."
"No need to get sassy about it. I was just saying." The ghost sniffed. "Guess you also don't want to know nothing about the man passed out in the back room."
Emma threw the bra down on one of the sofas and turned to Phil, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Granny says there's someone passed out in the back."
When Emma started for the hallway, Phil grabbed her arm. "Stay here," he ordered. "I'll check it out."
Picking up a sculpture from a nearby table, Phil held it like a police baton and started down the hallway past the kitchen doorway. Emma held back, then followed close on his heels. He glanced back. "I told you to stay."
"I'm not Archie," Emma hissed back at him. "I go where I please."
Shaking his head, Phil returned his attention to his mission.
"See," Granny said to Emma. "I told you he should've brought his gun."
The hallway was long and wide, with the solid areas painted the same color as the walls in the great room. Frosted glass doors took up most of one side. Emma quietly scooted one glass door back. It glided open soundlessly on a track to reveal a large and neatly organized closet. On the painted wall, framed photos and mementos hung in an artful arrangement like a pictorial display of Lainey's life. Emma's eye caught on several photographs of Max with Lainey and Joanna, and even a couple that included Kelly when the girls were young. There were also some taken recently of Lainey with a young man.
Phil slowly opened a door on the frosted glass wall side. It revealed a den with a built-in desk and bookcase unit. On the desk was a laptop and a printer with school books stacked around it. The room was cozier than the great room and appeared more lived in. There were glasses and bottles and empty plates with dirty napkins on the table in front of the sofa. Across from the sofa, a massive flat-screen TV hung on the wall.
The next door on the other side revealed a good-sized bedroom with a large window, through which the afternoon sun beamed brightly. It was nicely decorated like the rest of the condo, but obviously not the master bedroom. In this room, several boxes were stacked against one wall, along with ski equipment. Two high-end bicycles were parked against another wall.
The next room was a large bathroom almost the size of the bedroom, with a sunken soaking tub, dual sinks, and a shower that could fit four comfortably.
"Jesus," Phil said to Emma in a barely audible volume, "that bathroom is nearly a religious experience."
"So Granny told me," she whispered back.
On the other side of the bathroom was a bedroom much like the first, though not used as much for storage. Both bedrooms had doors connecting them to the bathroom.
"Psst," Granny whispered, even though only Emma could hear her. "Quit lollygagging. It's the last room at the end."
At the end, facing the hallway, were a set of double doors. Keeping the sculpture aloft, Phil gently turned the knob and peeked in. Sensing no danger, he pushed the door open more to show Emma what Granny had found.
On the huge California King four-poster bed was sprawled a young man with dark locks of hair from whom gentle grunts and snores emitted. He was on his stomach and naked, only partially covered by the tangled sheets.
"Hey," called Phil in an authoritative tone. "Buddy, get up." He took a step forward. "Come on, rise and shine."
The man in the bed moaned and turned slightly, revealing he was not alone. Next to him was an equally naked young woman with messy long blond hair.
Emma went to the large bank of windows. As in the great room, they were floor to ceiling and opened out to a balcony. She opened the blinds quickly, flooding the room with warm sunshine. The bodies on the bed starting moving like snakes disturbed in their nest. Not too fast, but there was life, evidenced by moans and the shifting of limbs.
"What the hell," the man said.
Shielding his eyes with an arm, he turned away from the window as he flipped onto his back. The woman remained on her stomach and moaned.
Phil approached the bed and poked the guy in the shoulder. "Come on, pal, get up. We have some questions for you."
The man raised up on his forearms and shook the sleep out of his brain like a dog shaking off water. His head of short black curls danced with the movement. As soon as he focused on Phil, he went on alert.
"Hey, man!"
With youthful speed and reflexes, he got to his feet and stood ready to defend himself, fists clenched and ready. Though much lighter than Phil, he was about a half foot taller and thirty years younger. Using caution, Phil stepped back but didn't step down. The kid hadn't noticed Emma yet.
Off to the side, Granny danced around from foot to foot like a prize fighter. "You can take him, Phil." Once again, Emma was glad Phil couldn't hear Granny. He didn't need any distractions at the moment.
"Who are you, and what do you want?" The young man's voice vibrated with a lick of fear, but he kept his fists up and ready.
"We're friends of Lainey's," Emma told him from her spot by the window. "You Keith Goldstein?" He looked like the young man in the photos in the hallway, but Emma wanted to make sure.
He snapped his head around at the sound of Emma's voice, then whipped it back to keep an eye on Phil. He didn't seem to notice or care that he was naked. Emma moved from the window so that the kid could keep both of them in his sights, hoping it would make him less wary. The girl on the bed stirred, slowly wakening, oblivious to the drama unfolding a foot away.
Granny shimmied up to Emma. "Will someone please tell the lad to put his knickers on."
"The lady," Phil prodded, "asked if you're Keith Goldstein. Answer her."
He glanced between the two of them. "Yeah, that's me." He lowered his fists but didn't unclench them. "Is Lainey okay? Did something happen to her?" He sounded genuinely concerned.
"Keith," Emma began, taking a step toward the door. "We need to talk to you about Lainey. Why don't you put some clothes on and meet us in the living room."
"Maybe I should call the police instead."
"Still playing the tough guy, huh?" Phil pointed to the phone next to the bed. "Why don't you call down to the front desk. They'll tell you Ms. Naiman gave them permission to let us in today."
"The concierge called first," Emma added, "but I guess you were too passed out to hear the phone."
"Will someone please get some clothes on the boy?" Granny paced, trying to keep her eyes averted. "It's indecent."
"We'll see you out in the other room." Emma started to leave, then stopped. "And while you're putting on your pants, you might want to wake up Sleeping Beauty. It's after three in the afternoon."
When Keith Goldstein joined them in the living room ten minutes later, he was alone. Phil and Emma were seated on the large sofa talking quietly between themselves. Keith was wearing jeans and a souvenir tee shirt from a rock concert. His feet were bare and his dark hair combed back away from his face, his curls semi-contained. He wore glasses with thick, black rectangle rims. He was an average-looking man in his early twenties, with nerdy overtones and a narrow face speckled lightly with acne scars. In one hand he carried a freshly opened can of Coke.
Emma crossed her arms and gave him a disgusted once-over. "This is how you treat Lainey after everything she's been through?"
He plopped down on the sofa across from them and took a drink of his soda. "Who are you again?"
Smoothing the skirt of her dress, Emma used the gesture to gather her patience like an errant chick. "I'm a longtime friend of Lainey's family, and Kelly's mother."
He digested the information as he took a long pull from the soda. "Kelly? That's Lainey's girlfriend at Harvard, right?"
"Yes."
"Yeah, Kelly White. I met her last December. Pretty cool chick."
Emma almost corrected him on the name but didn't. "I saw Lainey yesterday, Keith. She wanted me to stop by and pick up a few things for her."
Keith shot to attention. "How is she? Is she getting better?" His voice overflowed with hope.
"Yes, her doctor is pleased with her progress."
"Awesome."
Before Emma's motherly instincts could rise up and scold Keith, the girl from the bed emerged from the hallway wearing an oversized tee shirt. From the drape of her garment, it appeared it was all she was wearing. Unlike Keith, she hadn't even made an attempt to brush her hair or wash her face. Her honey-highlighted hair was wavy and well past her shoulders. Emma thought she recognized her.
"Just need to get my clothes." The young woman didn't seem at all embarrassed by the situation.
"It's about Lainey," Keith told her as she gathered her underwear, shoes, and other clothing as casually as picking flowers in a field. "They said she's doing better."
"That's great." Her words were upbeat; her tone---not so much. Clothing bundled in her arms, she sat on the arm of the sofa next to Keith and crossed her legs, leaving nothing to the imagination.
"You're Summer Perkins, aren't you?" asked Emma as she studied the girl's makeup-smudged face.
"Yeah," the girl answered as she studied Emma back. "And you're Kelly's mom---Mrs. Whitecastle, right? The ghost lady from TV." She sneered when she threw out the ghost part.
"That's right. It's been a long time since I've seen you, Summer---not since you girls were in high school. It's nice that you all still keep in touch."
Summer shrugged. "Lainey and I used to hang out a lot."
"Used to?"
"I mean, we're still good friends and all, but with her in the nut house, it's kind of hard."
Emma leaned forward, her face pinched in anger. Phil put a hand gently on her arm as a warning to take it slow. Emma ignored his gesture and fixed her eyes on Summer. "You're such good friends, you're keeping her fiancé company? In Lainey's own bed, no less?"
"411, Mrs. Whitecastle, they're not engaged anymore."
"It's true," Keith confirmed, though he had the good grace to look guilty. "Lainey and I broke up just before she left for Serenity. She gave me the ring back and everything."
"Hey, gramps," Summer suddenly called out. She uncrossed her legs and spread them, aiming her crotch at Phil. "Take a picture, it'll last longer."
Phil was flustered. "I can assure you, young lady, I was not looking at you."
"Yeah, right. All you old pervs do it. You know you do." She flashed Phil a sly grin. "Just so long as you don't touch."
"Summer, chill," Keith ordered as if he were giving a sharp command to a bad dog.
Granny moved in close to Emma. "Phil was not looking at that tramp's hoochie. He was looking at something else."
"I know," Emma said under her breath.
"What?" Summer snapped at Emma. "What did you call me?"
"I didn't call you anything, Summer. I was just saying I think you should go."
"You're not the boss of me."
The girl was stretching Emma's patience to the limit. Kelly wasn't perfect, but she was polite and sensible and seldom insolent. "We have things to discuss with Keith that don't concern you."
"Do as she says, Summer," Keith told her, not sounding too pleased with her behavior either.
Phil held up a hand halfway as if waiting to be called upon. "I was looking, Summer, not at you but at that gorgeous ring on your left hand. Does your fiancé know you spent the night here?"
The girl looked down at her left hand, which sported a very large square-cut solitaire. "This isn't mine, it was Lainey's. I was trying it on last night and forgot it was there. So relax, you don't have to tattle on me to anyone." She gave Phil another catlike smile. "Or were you thinking more along the lines of blackmail?"
"Just go, Summer," ordered Keith.
With her clothes in her arms, Summer stalked down the hall to the master bedroom, treating everyone to the loud slam of the door behind her.
"Don't mind Summer," Keith told them. "She's messed up, but she's cool."
Emma looked at Keith as if he'd lost his young mind. "She's definitely messed up, Keith, but she's far from cool. She's in more need of Serenity Place than Lainey is."
ten
After an awkward moment during which Keith took time to absorb Emma's blatant warning about Summer, he explained, "There's nothing going on with me and Summer. I've been really down lately---the thing with Lainey, studying for exams---it all kind of piled up on me. Some of our friends came by last night to cheer me up. Summer was with them. They brought food and beer. We played video games. That's it."
The parent in Emma wasn't mollified. "You played video games from bed?"
Keith nosed the pedestal of the coffee table with a foot. "I guess I got drunk, and Summer and I hooked up after. That's all."
Looking for some manly backup, he turned his eyes to Phil. "Man, you know how it is."
Under different circumstances, Phil would have given him a small smile of support, but he had sons, and while boys would be boys, he wouldn't want either of them to hook up with the likes of Summer Perkins, not even for an evening. Instead, he asked Keith, "Do you still have feelings for Lainey Naiman?"
Keith put his Coke down on the glass table. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knobby knees. "Yeah, I still do. I'm crazy about her."
"Lainey believes you think she tried to kill herself because she didn't want to marry you," Emma told him. "How'd she get that idea?"
Looking anywhere but at Emma, Keith took a deep breath. He placed the palm of his right hand on his chest and rubbed slowly, as if soothing a suspected heart attack. "I guess I sort of told her that."
Emma pushed. "You likened her to an animal who'd rather chew off her foot than marry you, didn't you?"
Phil hung his head like a broken hinge. "Oh, son, you didn't!"
Keith looked up, his brown eyes drooping behind his glasses. "I know, I was a complete dumbass. I just didn't know what else to think. We were having a fight. After I said that to her, she took the ring off and threw it at me. I'm only in the condo until she returns from Serenity. My stuff's all packed and ready to go."
"Lainey believes something was driving her to do what she did," Emma said. "She must have told you that."
"Yeah." Keith ran a bony hand over the stubble on his chin. "She told me she felt like she had no control over her actions---like she'd space out and then snap out of it just as she was about to die." He eyed Emma, his face still as stone. "Do you believe that?"
"Yes, Keith, I do. I don't think Lainey was responsible for her actions, and I want to get to the bottom of it."
Keith sat perfectly still as he mashed what Emma said together with his feelings. Picking up his soda, he took a long drink, tipping back the can until it was empty. He put it back on the table, the sound tinny and hollow as it connected with the glass table.
"If it's not me causing Lainey's problems, do you think I have a chance to win her back?"
Emma was quiet, but Phil gave it to him straight. "Hard to say with Summer in the mix. If she's the one who's told everyone where Lainey is, I'm sure she's going to happily tell Lainey or Lainey's true friends, like Kelly, about this little indiscretion."
"Oh, god!" Keith hung his head, cradling it in his hands.
"You might want to be the one to tell her," Phil suggested. "Man up, and let her know how you feel and how sorry you are."
Emma got up to stretch her legs. She walked to the patio door and looked out at the gorgeous view, studying the cluster of Century City high-rise office buildings that popped up in the distance like dandelions. She turned back to Keith. "Was everything else okay between you and Lainey? No other issues that might have upset her, or dreams or feelings she was having right before these incidents?"
When he shrugged, she asked, "What about your parents? Did both sides approve of your upcoming marriage? After all, you are both quite young and still in school." She took a step back toward the men and leaned her hands on the back of the sofa where Phil sat. "I know I'd be concerned if Kelly wanted to get married at this time in her life."
Keith gave the question some thought before answering. "At first my folks were concerned about Lainey. They knew she was the daughter of someone famous and cautioned me about life in the fast lane. But when I took her to Seattle to meet them, she melted their hearts, especially after she told them she doesn't want to stay in LA after we've finished with school. They saw for themselves she isn't at all like those rich bimbos they hear about in the news. She's smart and down-to-earth." A small smile crept across his face. "As far as my folks are concerned, there are only two things I've done 100 percent right in my life---set my sights on becoming a doctor and fall in love with a nice Jewish girl."
"And Lainey's parents?"
After a deep sigh, Keith shook his head in disgust. "My parents are definitely not going to like them."
It was Phil's turn to make a guess. "I take it they didn't take to you as your parents did to Lainey?"
"They're psycho. Her old man called me a gold digger right to my face."
The ghost of Max Naiman popped into view just behind Keith. "Don't look at me. I like the boy."
Emma caught Phil's eye as she asked Keith, "You mean Linwood Reid, her stepfather?"
"Yeah. He actually had the balls to offer me fifty thousand dollars to drop Lainey like a lead weight."
"Is that the Max character?" asked Granny.
Emma nodded but kept up her conversation with Keith. "What did Lainey say about that?"
"I didn't tell her." Keith got up and disappeared into the kitchen.
"Max is here," Emma whispered to Phil. "He likes Keith."
"So do I," returned Phil, "in spite of Summer."
Granny eyed Max up and down. He winked at her, causing Granny to giggle like a schoolgirl. "I gotta watch me some of his movies."
Keith returned clutching another Coke. "That booze made me dry as a sand dune." He looked down at the can as he popped the top. "I'm sorry. Would you guys like something? We've got tons of Coke, even some beer still left."
"No, thanks," Phil answered for both of them.
Emma wasn't through with the Lin Reid topic. "Why didn't you tell Lainey about Lin's offer?"
Keith took a drink before answering and squelched a burp. "Excuse me." Sitting back down, he said, "Lainey doesn't get along with her stepfather at all. Not sure why, but she can't stand him. She once told me he had her husband all picked out for her---some clown nephew of his or someone like that. Maybe that's why."
"So Lainey being engaged to you gummed up his plans." Phil leaned forward and moved the orchid out of the way to see Keith better.
"I guess."
Max moved in front of Emma. "This boy isn't the gold digger. Reid is."
Emma's attention clicked onto the ghost. Without thinking, she asked Max, "Why do you say that?"
Not realizing Emma was speaking to a spirit, Keith answered, "Well, as long as she's with me, she can't date his nephew. Although she's met him and doesn't like him, so I'm not sure how Lin thought he was going to change her mind."
Max looked at the boy, letting him finish before he answered Emma's question. "Lainey doesn't have all her inheritance. She gets the bulk of it when she turns twenty-one in five months. I think Reid wants to get his hands on it. He's already wormed his way into Joanna's money by convincing her they didn't need prenups."
Emma clutched the back of the sofa. "Keith, did you know about Lainey's inheritance?"
"Sure, that's how she could afford this place."
"No, not the money she received at eighteen. Did you know she was to inherit a larger sum upon her twenty-first birthday?"
From the surprise on his face, both Emma and Phil knew he didn't.
Emma wasn't sure how or if Lainey's suicide attempts tied in to her inheritance or Lin Reid. While Lin did seem to exercise some control over Joanna, she couldn't imagine how he could manage to push Lainey to the brink of killing herself, if he did have a hand in it at all. It just seemed improbable.
"You know what the weirdest part of all this is?" asked Keith. "When we were with Lainey's parents, her mother seemed to be totally in agreement with Lin. But her mother offered me money to make sure I married her."
"What?" everyone, even the two ghosts, asked almost in unison.
"Yeah." He ran a hand through his hair, loosening it into a riot of short tendrils. "Joanna came here one day shortly after Lainey went to Serenity and handed me twenty grand in cash. In cash! She said there was another eighty waiting for me the day I married Lainey."
Phil stared at Emma. "What in the hell is wrong with those people?"
Without waiting for an answer, he turned to Keith. "Whatever made Lainey do what she did, I don't think it had anything to do with you. Not a damn thing."
"I'd like to believe that."
Without a word, Max started floating down the hallway toward the master suite, Granny following him like a lovesick puppy. It reminded Emma of Summer. The girl hadn't come out yet. "Summer's taking a long time."
Keith turned and glanced down the hall. "She's probably showering first."
"Or," Phil added, "stalling to make a point."
Emma made a sour face, then stopped when Phil caught her in the act. He merely grinned at the childish behavior and patted her arm. "Patience."
After taking a deep breath, Emma said, "Keith, I'm inviting Lainey to my home in Julian next weekend. Would you like to drive down and see her? It's not here and it's not Serenity. Think of it as someplace neutral where you two can talk out your problems."
"She might not want to see me."
Phil considered the invitation. "I think that's a great idea, Emma. And if it's uncomfortable for them, Keith can stay at the ranch instead of under the same roof."
He turned to Keith. "My ranch is just across the way from Emma's cabin. It will give you two space when you need it."
Before Keith could answer, Granny popped into view. "Come quick!" she told Emma. "It's the girl."
Without explanation, Emma dashed around the sofa and sprinted down the hallway toward the master bedroom. Phil, realizing something was wrong, was right behind her. Bringing up the rear was a surprised Keith.
When she got to the double doors, Emma grabbed the knob and started twisting and turning while shoving on the door.
"Something's wrong with Summer," she told the men.
"Out of the way, Emma." Phil slammed his sturdy shoulder against the door. It shook but didn't give. Keith, still stunned, watched. "Come on, son," Phil shouted. "Give me a hand here."
Keith lined himself up with Phil, and the two of them hit the door with their shoulders like side-by-side battering rams. The thick, expensive door buckled but didn't give.
"What's going on?" asked Keith between grunts and slams.
Emma shook with impatience to get inside the room. "I think Summer's in trouble."
"One more time," said Phil. "One, two, three." On three, the two men hit the door, breaking it open. They spilled into the room like floodwaters, with Emma wading through them.
eleven
"Summer, no." Emma wanted to shout the words, but she didn't dare in case the sound startled the girl any more than breaking down the door had. Instead, they squeaked out of her in a soft plea as she stepped past the men and cautiously made her way to the open door to the balcony.
Summer was partially dressed, wearing only skinny leggings and her lacy pink bra. On her feet were her high heels. Her hair was a tangle of golden vines spilling down her shoulders and across her face and neck. She looked like an exotic wild animal. Teetering precariously, one foot on a patio table, the other on the railing of the balcony, she peered over the edge to the ground twelve floors below. Standing next to her, his eyes glued to her face, his arms outspread as if to catch her, was the ghost of Max Naiman.
"Summer!" Keith called and started for her.
Grabbing his arm, Phil held him back. "Careful. You don't want to spook her."
At her name, Summer turned around and pushed hair from her face. She saw them, but it was clear the image wasn't registering. Her eyes were glazed and unfixed.
"What's she on?" Emma whispered to Keith.
"Nothing that I know of," he whispered back. "I've never even seen her smoke dope."
"Help her, Emma," pleaded Max, not taking his eyes off of Summer.
"There's something not natural about that girl," Granny said to Emma.
"Granny's right," added Max. "It was the same with Lainey."
Motioning for the men to stay behind, Emma took another step toward the balcony. "Summer, come here, dear. I have something for you." She kept her voice light and inviting, forcing the fright out of it for the sake of the girl.
Summer looked at Emma, and for a brief moment happy recognition sparked her eyes. "You're Kelly's mom." Her tone was totally devoid of the earlier insolence.
"That's right, Summer, I am." Another careful step. "Remember when you girls used to stay at our house?"
The girl on the balcony nodded slowly.
"You and Lainey and Kelly. Paula and Charlotte, too. You'd go to the dances at school, then to our house for a sleepover."
"Mr. Whitecastle would make us blueberry pancakes."
"That's right." Emma had forgotten that. Before he was super famous and became so self-centered, Grant had been a gem of a father. "Why don't you come down from there? We can make blueberry pancakes together. Wouldn't you like that?"
Again Summer nodded, this time accompanied by a small smile.
"Good job, Emma," Max encouraged. "I think you've got her."
Granny wasn't so sure. "Hold on, there's something wrong here."
Granny was right. Just as Summer started to take her foot off of the railing, a shimmering haze outlined her body, and Summer retreated back into a stupor, the earlier smile gone.
"What's going on?" Phil asked in a low voice. Behind him Keith watched, dumbstruck.
"I'm not sure," Emma responded. "But I think there's another spirit here. And not a very friendly one." She glanced back at Phil. "Do you see anything odd about Summer?"
"She just retreated into a trance again."
"Exactly, and there's a haze surrounding her."
"That I can't see."
"Granny, Max, do you know who that is with Summer?"
Both ghosts responded in the negative, but Max added, "That's exactly how Lainey looked each time she tried to kill herself."
"Whoever you are," Emma said, speaking at Summer but not to her, "leave the girl alone. She's innocent."
Keith moved closer to Phil. "What in the hell is going on?" His voice shook with fear as goose bumps sprouted on his arms like air bubbles on a baking cake.
"I think Summer is being haunted," Phil told him as quietly as possible.
Keith's mouth fell open. "What the---"
"Shhh," Phil cautioned. "Let Emma handle it."
"Summer, look at me," ordered Emma, her voice low but stern. "Look at me," she repeated in a stronger voice.
Summer shook her head slightly and tried to focus, fighting for control of her own body. "What's happening to me?" She started weeping.
"Stay focused, Summer," Emma encouraged. "Take your foot off the ledge and stay focused on me."
The girl latched her eyes onto Emma's again. "I'm so cold." She wrapped her arms around herself.
"I know, dear, but you'll be warm in a minute. Just take your foot off the ledge."
From far below came the blast of multiple sirens.
"Sounds like the police are here," Phil said. "Someone must have seen her on the ledge."
Max glanced over the railing. "Fire and police."
After relaying the information to Phil and Keith, Emma told Keith, "Go to the front door and wait. They'll be up here in a minute."
Keith hesitated, not wanting to leave Summer, but in the end he did as he was told.
Emma returned her attention to the girl. "Help is coming, Summer, but you have to be brave and do as I say. Take your foot off the railing."
Summer removed her foot from the balcony railing and placed it next to the one on the table. Granny and Max watched, frozen in their tracks.
"Good," said Emma. "Now come down off the table. Slowly, one foot at a time."
The frightened girl didn't move. The haze around her thickened, enveloping her like a cocoon. She put her foot back on the railing. Emma felt sick to her stomach.
"Whoever you are," Granny said to the hidden ghost, "show yourself. This child's done nothing to you."
While they watched, Summer battled for her life, struggling against the spirit wanting to control her mind and her actions.
Emma moved closer. "Please leave her alone," she begged of the unknown spirit. "Whatever you want, I can help. This girl cannot."
"You cannot help," a feathery female voice answered. "No one can. It is not my destiny in life, or in death, to be happy."
Summer's other foot started to move toward the railing. Phil saw it, too, and circled around, trying to edge toward Summer without attracting notice.
It was then Emma noticed the ring on Summer's hand. It seemed illuminated, but from the inside out, not from catching the sunshine that spilled onto the balcony. "Max," she said to Lainey's father, "were you wearing that ring when you died?"
He glanced at the ring. "No, that's a woman's engagement ring."
"The stone. Isn't that the stone from your ring, the one Joanna gave you?"
He drifted as close to Summer as he dared and tried to get a good look at the ring. "Yes, I believe it is." He turned to Emma, his ghostly face shocked by understanding. "Lainey was wearing that ring when she tried to kill herself. I'm sure of it."
"Summer, look at me," Emma ordered. When the girl didn't, Emma snapped her fingers. "Look at me!"
This time Summer turned her eyes to Emma and tried to focus.
"Take the ring off, Summer."
Summer looked confused. The haze around her grew as heavy as a fog bank. Her second foot finished its journey from table to rail. She bobbled. Emma and Phil gasped.
"The ring," Emma said again. She took another step forward. "Lainey's ring, Summer. Take it off."
Summer raised her left hand and looked at the stunning, light-filled rock. "But it's so pretty."
"Take it off," Emma coaxed. "It belongs to Lainey."
With her right hand, Summer clutched the ring and started to slip it off slowly, all the while keeping her eyes transfixed on it.
Excited voices drifted in from the other room, and they could hear fast footsteps in the hallway.
"Do it, Summer. Now!"
Mustering the last of her self-control, in one sweeping motion Summer slid the ring off her finger, letting it fly toward Emma. The haze around her remained but was fading rapidly.
As the emergency people entered the room, Summer's eyes cleared and she became aware of her situation. She screamed.
"You'll not deny me!" cackled the disembodied voice.
The ghost swirled around the frightened and confused young woman like a swarm of bees. Another bobble, and Summer lost her footing.
Emma's screams echoed those of the falling girl.
twelve
Emma rocked back and forth on the large leather sofa in the den of her parents' home. Although it was warm, she couldn't stop shivering. Her mother placed a heavy afghan across her shoulders and rubbed them, trying to both soothe and warm her daughter.
"There was nothing you could have done, Emma," said Phil, who sat on her other side. "As soon as she came out of her trance and realized where she was, Summer panicked and fell. And who knows what influence that evil spirit had over her, even after the ring came off."
Inconsolable, Emma continued to shiver. "I should have worked faster or noticed the ring earlier."
"The police coming in like they did probably didn't help either." He put his strong arms around her and drew her into his warmth. "You did everything you could, Emma. And if we hadn't been there, Keith might have become a suspect in a murder. Imagine if she'd jumped while the two of them were at the condo alone."
It was true, and Emma knew it. If the angry ghost did inhabit the ring, it might have enticed Summer to jump, leaving Keith on his own to explain what had happened. As it was, the police weren't too keen on the explanation that Summer might have been hearing voices. Each of them had been questioned separately. Although they didn't know what Keith told the authorities, Phil and Emma later compared their own accounts and found them almost exactly the same: Summer had been acting a bit bizarre when they first saw her. When asked to leave, she'd gotten in a snit and locked herself in the bedroom. Emma had a feeling something was wrong, and when they broke down the bedroom door, they had found Summer in a trancelike state, about to jump. Both of them had left out the part about Granny telling Emma about Summer being in danger and about the ring.
The ring.
In the aftermath of Summer's death, Emma had noticed the ring on the floor and picked it up, hoping the police didn't see her do it. She slipped it into a pocket of her dress.
When all the questioning was done, Keith packed up some clothes. Emma grabbed the items Lainey had requested, and they all left the condo together, leaving the police to complete their investigation. In the elevator, Emma held the ring out to Keith. He didn't make a move to touch it, even though he had not been in the room when Summer pulled it off and didn't know about the ring's deadly consequences.
"That really belongs to Lainey. The stone was her father's. Joanna gave it to us to use for the engagement ring." Keith hesitated but still didn't take the ring. "Can you give it to her when you see her?"
As much as Emma was afraid of what the ring might hold, she knew that having it in her possession might give her an opportunity to contact the ghost inhabiting the gem. She needed to find out for sure if it was the angry spirit who had made Lainey try to destroy herself and caused both Max's and Summer's deaths. She also wanted to know more about the ghost. She knew it was female, but that was it. Hopefully Granny or Max would be able to tell her more. Both of them had disappeared shortly after Summer's swan dive onto Wilshire Boulevard.
Acting as if the ring might burn her, Emma cautiously put it back into her pocket. "I'll make sure it gets returned to Lainey."
"What are you going to do now?" Phil asked Keith.
The still-shaken young man shrugged and looked away. "I'll crash with friends until school's over, then head back up to Seattle for the summer. No sense staying in LA if Lainey doesn't want me."
"You are still welcome to come to Julian next weekend," Emma told him. "At the very least, you need to see Lainey and explain what happened. Even if you go to Serenity to do it."
Keith took a deep breath and blew out two lungs' worth of frustrated air. "You're right. I'm sure she's going to see this on the news and wonder what was going on."
"I don't know how much news they allow in places like that," Phil told him. "Sometimes facilities like to monitor things that might disturb their patients."
"Phil's right, although Lainey will need to be told. Her mother might tell her, or even the police. They did ask me about Lainey."
"Yeah," Keith said, running a nervous hand through his hair. "Me too."
Phil put an encouraging hand on Keith's shoulder as he handed him more bad news. "And the media is going to have a field day with this. It's not every day a young woman falls to her death from the twelfth-floor home of Max Naiman's daughter."
More deep groans from Keith. "What a nightmare. All because I couldn't keep my pants on."
"It wasn't your fault Summer fell," Phil told Keith.
Now, in the comfort and security of the Miller home, Phil was saying the same thing to Emma, and like Keith, she wasn't so sure. Keith wasn't at fault. He may not have understood what Emma said when she told him Summer was being haunted, but he didn't put the ring on her finger or set her on the ledge. And Phil was right: neither did she. If Granny hadn't told her about Summer being in danger, she might never have discovered the dangers of the ring.
Emma started to rise. "What is it, honey?" her father, Paul Miller, asked from his chair across from the sofa. "What do you need?"
"My purse, Dad. It's on the table in the foyer."
Dr. Miller rose and left the room, returning in a minute with Emma's handbag. He handed it to her. "You know I don't always understand all this stuff about ghosts and spirits like you and your mother do, but it does seem, from what you've told us, that there is something unnatural going on here."
"I agree, Dad."
"And it seems to me that unless you get to the bottom of it, more people might be in danger."
"But why me?" Emma looked up at her father, a retired heart surgeon. She'd gotten her looks from her mother and her tall, slim body from her father.
She looked around the room at each of them---her father and mother and Phil. "Why can't someone else do this?" She started to cry softly. "Sometimes it's too much to bear."
"Because you have the gift, Emma." The simple response came from Granny, who only Emma and her mother could hear. "You were chosen to be special. We need you."
Emma looked around the room until her eyes settled on Granny. She was seated on the floor by the fireplace. Next to her, Archie was stretched out, half on his back, as the ghost stroked his belly. When the ghost spoke, the dog thumped his tail.
"Granny's right," Elizabeth Miller told her daughter. "You do have a special gift, but I don't like you getting mixed up in these things." Elizabeth told the men what the ghost had said. "It worries me to death."
"I'm with your mother on this, honey." Dr. Miller sat on the edge of the coffee table and took his daughter's hands into his own. Emma loved the feeling of her small hands being cradled by her father's capable ones. "If that ring is a problem, why not have Lainey or her family lock it up in a safe-deposit box or sell it or even have it destroyed?"
Emma dug into her purse and located the ring. She'd stuck it into a small zippered side pocket once she and Phil were on the road back to Pasadena. She pulled it out, careful not to put it on her finger. Her mother let out a slight gasp. Even her father was impressed.
"That's some stone." Dr. Miller held out his hand for it. "May I?"
With a bit of hesitation, Emma handed it to him. "Just don't put it on," she cautioned. "We don't know for sure it's the ring that's haunted, but I don't want to take any chances."
Dr. Miller put on his reading glasses and examined the ring closely. Keeping ahold of it, he showed it to his wife, who was equally impressed. "I'm no expert, but to the naked eye that looks nearly flawless."
"And large," added Elizabeth. "Didn't you say this stone was once set in a man's ring? Seems rather large for that."
"I vaguely recall Max's wedding ring, the one Joanna gave him after they restated their vows. The stone was huge, but it was recessed in the band, so it didn't sit up like in this setting."
"I'll bet that ring is worth a mint." Dr. Miller gave it back to Emma. "Haunted or not, it shouldn't be sitting around." He got up and resettled in the club chair he'd vacated earlier.
"Why don't you put it in the safe until you can give it to Lainey?" Elizabeth suggested.
Emma's father shook his head. "They won't let Lainey have anything that valuable while she's at Serenity. She'd just have to turn around and give it to someone there to hold it for her."
"Dad's right." Emma studied the ring, both wishing and dreading further communication with the spirit within it. "I'll tell Lainey I have it and ask if she wants me to give it to her mother to hold."
"Hey," Phil piped up as a thought occurred to him. "If that stone originally belonged to Max, and Joanna only recently handed it over to Lainey and Keith, do you think that maybe she knows about the spirit?" While the other three contemplated his question, he added, "She does seem to be sensitive to spirits."
Elizabeth looked at Emma with surprise. "Is Lainey's mother like us?"
Emma smiled inwardly at the "like us" comment. Her mother could hear Granny but couldn't see her, and so far had not demonstrated an ability to hear other ghosts beyond the one time Emma had helped her see Paulie, Emma's deceased brother. Nor did Elizabeth seem to want to expand her abilities beyond that one time. Emma wished she'd set such boundaries for herself.
"I don't think so, Mother. Joanna displayed a sensitivity to Max's presence but claimed she could not see or hear him. I think it's totally possible for non-mediums to sense spirits even if they cannot see or hear them, especially those they were close to in life. I've seen it at sessions with some of Milo's clients."
She gestured with her hand to Phil. "Phil has learned to communicate with Granny and can tell when she's around."
"Really?" asked Dr. Miller with interest.
"Absolutely," answered Phil, "and not just when Emma's present. Granny and I have become quite the pals."
Phil unwrapped his arm from around Emma's shoulders and leaned forward. "Right now," Phil told them, "Granny is over by the fireplace. Just to the left of it." He looked to Emma for confirmation. After she rewarded him with a nod, he continued his demonstration. "And I'll bet she's right behind Archie, possibly low to the floor or sitting on it."
"You sure he can't see me?" Granny asked Emma.
Emma's mother sat back against the sofa cushion, her face filled with astonishment. "I'm beginning to wonder the same thing myself, Granny. I only know where you are by the sound of your voice."
Emma laughed, her first in many hours. She was also warm again and shrugged off the afghan. "They think you're holding out---that you really can see Granny."
Phil shook his head. He lifted the coffee mug from the end table next to him and took a gulp, stretching out his explanation and enjoying it far too much.
"All it takes is a bit of observation," he continued. Still holding the coffee cup, he pointed it toward where he rightly assumed Granny was sitting. "Archie has been glued to that spot ever since we came in here, and we all know he's devoted to Granny. What's more, right now he's all stretched out, with his tail thumping away. I'm guessing not only is Granny over there on the floor with him, but she's rubbing his belly."
Emma turned toward Granny, who was still rubbing the soft fur on Archie's black underbelly, putting the animal into doggie nirvana.
Suddenly aware of what she was doing, Granny stopped. "Well, I'll be." Archie, not at all pleased, whined.
"They also chat back and forth," Emma informed her parents.
Dr. Miller, a man of science, sat back in his chair. "This I have to see to believe."
"You mind, Granny?" Emma asked the ghost.
In response, Granny stood up.
"Granny," Phil asked her. "Do you think Joanna Reid is lying? Do you think she can see or hear Max?"
"No," Granny answered. "She can't."
"Tell Phil, Granny," Emma told her. "Mother and I can hear you, but tell Phil."
Phil stood up and moved to the middle of the room. The ghost drifted over to him. Archie got to his feet and followed, planting his butt on the carpet where Granny stopped. The Millers watched, fascinated.
When Phil repeated his question, Granny got on tiptoe and blew into his left ear.
"Granny said no, she doesn't think Joanna can see or hear Max."
"Granny," Phil said to the spirit. "Do you think Emma should help Lainey and this new ghost?"
The ghost gave it some thought before blowing into Phil's left ear.
"No? You don't think she should?"
Granny moved her head and blew into Phil's right ear.
"Oh, so you do think she should help them?"
"No." Granny stomped her foot soundlessly on the carpet. Archie started in surprise. She blew into Phil's left ear again, then quickly blew into his right.
"Are you confused?" Phil asked the ghost.
"Nothing confusing about it, you old fool. I think she shouldn't help the ghost, but she should help Lainey. You gotta ask the right questions, not jumble them all together."
Emma and her mother broke into laughter. So did the men when Emma's mother conveyed Granny's words.
"You gotta teach me that trick, Phil," Dr. Miller said. "Might liven up the football games she watches with us."
Phil sat down in a club chair that matched Dr. Miller's. "Nothing tricky about it. Like I said, you just have to be observant. You already know it gets a bit cool when she's here. Just watch the dog and pay attention. Left ear is no, and the right is yes."
"I ain't no parlor trick," huffed Granny in a barely audible voice. Turning on her heel, she stomped back over to the fireplace. Archie followed. Emma watched Granny retreat, noting the ghost's image was fast dissipating.
Phil watched the dog trot across the carpet, stopping short in his tracks as if he'd come across a wall. "Did Granny leave? Was it something I said?"
"She's gone," Emma confirmed. "You have to remember that being with us takes a lot of Granny's energy. The more she speaks or is visible, the sooner she has to leave us to recharge." Emma walked over and sat on the arm of Phil's chair. "Remember how I said it's not possible for Granny to blow into your ear?"
"But she did blow into my ear," Phil stated with emphasis. "Just now and before."
Emma shook her head. "She can't blow. Not really. But she can cause the air around her to move. It takes a lot out of her though." She put an arm around Phil's shoulders while she explained. "Today, when Joanna thought she was being forced back down into her chair, Max was doing it. He was causing the atmosphere around Joanna to weigh her down. But right after that, he disappeared again. He'd used up his energy. Even petting Archie is like that. Granny isn't really petting him but moving the air around his belly so it feels like a caress. It's exhausting for her, but she loves doing it." She gave Phil a squeeze. "But not to worry, Granny will be back and her old self soon---at least I hope so. I wanted to ask her why she didn't want me to help that other ghost."
"Whoever that is," Granny answered, her whispery voice coming out of nowhere, "she's up to no good. She's killing people, Emma. I don't want you messing with her."
"Granny's back," Elizabeth told the men before reporting Granny's words to them.
"Yes, but only her voice," said Emma as she stood up.
Emma walked toward the fireplace, hoping to hear Granny better. "But I have to help that ghost if I want to help Lainey. It seems to go hand in hand."
Elizabeth continued to report the conversation to the men.
"Granny and I are on the same page here, Emma," Phil announced. "I saw what that vengeful ghost did to that poor girl today."
Emma thought about Summer's fall and what she'd just explained to Phil and her parents. "And now I'm pretty sure Summer didn't slip. I believe that ghost pushed her over the railing using the same technique Granny uses to blow into your ear."
She looked down at the ring still clutched in her hand. "She murdered Summer Perkins the same as if she'd shot her through the heart, and she'll keep on murdering unless we find out why and stop it. It's likely the spirit in the diamond was the reason Max Naiman died in that car accident."
"You think it might be a curse or grudge against the Naimans specifically?" asked Emma's father.
"I doubt it, Paul," answered Phil. "The girl who died today didn't seem to be related to them."
"But she was wearing the ring that belonged in the Naiman family," Paul pointed out.
Emma paced in front of the fireplace as she tried to remember what Joanna had told them about the ring. She spun back around to Phil. "Didn't Joanna say the ring was a vintage piece she'd found?"
"I believe she did say that."
Going to where she'd dropped her bag, Emma retrieved her cell phone and placed a call to Joanna Reid. She only reached voicemail. "Joanna," she recorded. "Emma Whitecastle. I think I know what might have killed Max and Summer Perkins, and tried to kill poor Lainey. I need to talk to you as soon as possible." After giving Joanna her cell phone number, Emma ended the call.
"You think the police have contacted her yet?" asked Elizabeth. "She might not know about Summer unless she saw it on the news."
"Hard to say, Mother, but even if she doesn't know, mentioning Summer's death might compel her to return my call, if only out of curiosity."
Going down her list of recent calls, Emma hit the number for Serenity Place. When someone answered, Emma gave her name and asked to speak to Dr. Kitty Garvey, saying it was important and had to do with Lainey Naiman.
She was told Dr. Kitty was out but she could leave a message. "Please ask her to call me." Again, Emma left her number.
"Is that the Dr. Kitty Garvey who is married to Dr. Michael Garvey?" Dr. Miller asked.
"Yes, Dad. Do you know them?"
"I met them many years ago at a medical conference." He turned to his wife. "Remember, dear, they sat at our table during dinner one night, and later we all played bridge."
Elizabeth Miller rooted around in her memory as if looking for a pair of lost gloves. "Was that the winter conference on Kauai?"
"Yes."
"I do remember them. They were both psychiatrists, and as I recall, she had just had a terrible skiing accident and was in a cast. Was mad as can be that she was in Hawaii and couldn't snorkel."
"Dr. Kitty does have a noticeable limp," Emma reported.
Dr. Miller leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hands together. "If it's the same pair of doctors I'm thinking of, they were quite adamant about treating depression and other mental conditions naturally."
"What do you mean, Dad?"
"Naturally---without drugs except as absolutely necessary. I remember them being quite passionate about it. Said doctors and patients both were too eager to put a bandage on problems with drugs instead of getting to the root. Can't say I disagree."
"The few people I saw at Serenity Place didn't look under the influence of drugs at all. You would have thought they were on vacation at a spa with regular exercise and art classes."
"Exercise," Dr. Miller repeated. "I recall the Garveys were very big on exercise being a major part of therapy. Wholesome food, lots of physical exercise, and digging deep to discover and face personal demons."
Emma thought about Dr. Kitty's comment about hooey. "I wonder how the Garveys would feel about facing an angry ghost?"
thirteen
"Have you decided what to do with that ring?" Phil called out to Emma. He was tucked into Emma's bed, reading, while he waited for her to finish brushing her teeth.
Emma came out of the bathroom, her electric toothbrush humming inside her mouth like an industrious bee. She stopped it and pulled it out. "Still thinking about it. Might offer to keep it for Lainey until she's out of Serenity. Then again, she might want me to give it to her mother." She stuck the toothbrush back inside her mouth and ducked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. A minute later, the humming stopped.
Phil glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Emma had been in the bathroom a long time. Putting down his book, he climbed out of bed to investigate. He put his head close to the closed door but couldn't hear anything. He softly knocked. "Emma, you okay?"
No reply.
Opening the door, Phil found Emma sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, lost in thought.
"Hey, Fancy Pants," he said in a gentle voice. "What's up?"
Emma turned her head slowly to look at him. It took her a second to return her thoughts to the present. When she did, she smiled. "You look quite fetching in those PJ bottoms and spectacles, Cowboy."
Phil sucked in his gut and patted his thick chest with its sparse blanket of gray hair. "Ya think? Or is that just some crazy ghost talk?"
Emma's smile faded into overcast clouds. Turning her head away, she stared at nothing in particular, her hands clasped together.
Phil took a seat on the wide, rounded side of the custom tub across from her and leaned forward, wrapping his large hands around hers. They felt hot to his touch. "Are you feeling okay, Emma?"
She continued staring at her closed hands. "Yes, I'm fine."
"Somehow I'm not convinced." Keeping one hand on hers, he felt her forehead and cheeks. "Your hands are burning up, but you don't have a fever."
She pulled her hands away from his and opened them. Inside was Lainey's diamond ring. "It's the ring, Phil. It's giving off heat."
"I thought you put that in your parents' safe downstairs."
"I was going to, but ...," her voice trailed off, and she returned her attention to the ring.
Phil wasn't happy knowing her answer to his next question even before he asked it. "You want her to come out of the ring, don't you?"
Emma looked up, her blue eyes returned to clarity again. "Yes, Phil, I do. Until I talk to her, I can't help anyone. I've been trying to get her to come out. She did it at the condo, so I know she can if she wants."
Phil took off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Emma, I'm worried about this ghost. She seems more dangerous than any you've encountered before."
"But I need to know more about her, Phil. I think if I put on the ring, I might be able to connect with her."
Phil dropped his glasses and jumped to his feet. "No, Emma." Remembering Emma's parents were in their bedroom on the other side of the house, he lowered his voice. "You know damn well wearing that ring has caused people to die."
She scrunched her face up at him in challenge. "Are you going to forbid me, Phil?"
He stooped down to pick up his glasses and stayed in his crouch longer than was necessary, his eyes cast down at the gleaming tile floor. When he looked up, his displeasure was clear. "No, Emma, I'm not going to forbid you. You're not a child. I simply want you to consider the consequences and the people who would be devastated if something happened to you---Kelly, your parents, even my aunt and uncle."
"And you?"
He stared into her eyes, his unhappiness replaced by fear. "I'm at the top of that list, Emma. The King of the Hill. I'd be lost without you. Next to my boys, you're my reason for getting up each day."
She leaned forward and kissed him, letting her lips linger on his. "I'll be fine, Phil."
He pulled away. "Don't make promises you might not be able to keep. Until you know more about that damn ghost, you don't know what it's capable of."
"Then help me."
"How? By keeping you away from balconies, cars, and sharp objects?"
"Yes."
Phil did a double take. "You're serious."
"Yes, Phil. I am."
Without answering, he turned on his heel and went into the bedroom. He plopped down heavily on the edge of the bed, his feet planted firmly on the floor to display his stand on the matter. Emma followed, the ring clutched tightly in her hand, as if that alone might prevent the ghost from escaping like a firefly.
"Phil, I need your help." Emma stood in front of him and placed a hand on his bare shoulder. "Please."
Not mollified, he asked, "What exactly did you have in mind?"
"I want to slip the ring on, and---"
He cut her off. "Absolutely not."
She removed her hand. "At least hear me out first."
Phil crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I'm all ears."
"Now that your ears are open, how about opening your mind a little?"
He uncrossed his arms, but his brow remained suspicious.
"That's better. What I propose is that I slip on the ring and see what happens, but only with you here. If anything bad starts, you can grab the ring and pull it off my finger. We could do it tonight."
"What if the ghost doesn't want to come out and play? Except for Summer, didn't the others wear the ring awhile before it started haunting them? It might not be as instantaneous as you want it to be."
She took a seat next to him on the bed and opened her hand. In her palm the ring looked like a harmless, large stone---beautiful but hardly deadly. "I realize that, but the stone is different tonight. It's buzzing with heat and energy. I also think since the ghost revealed herself once, she might do it again, especially to someone like me."
With a sigh, Phil put an arm around Emma. "Why don't you wait and ask Milo about this first?"
"I dropped him an email before we went to dinner, and he responded shortly after we returned home tonight. He said it's very rare for ghosts to take up residence in inanimate objects. He's only seen it twice, and it was pretty benign."
"So since he doesn't know much about it and can't advise, we're flying solo on this?" Phil's face darkened.
"Yes. Milo said he wants to see it, but I'm afraid if we wait until he returns in a few weeks, the ghost might decide to leave the ring and start hurting people more frequently. Without knowing her motive, we don't know what to expect."
"What about Granny? Wouldn't it help if she were here for this?"
"Maybe, maybe not. She hasn't been around since your little demonstration in the den. I tried calling to her while I was in the bathroom, but nothing."
Emma dropped the ring. "Ow, it's getting hot again."
"Let me get this straight," Phil said as Emma bent to pick up the ring. "You want to slip on that bit of voodoo and have me stand by to make sure you don't do anything stupid, beyond wearing the ring in the first place."
Using the folds of her nightgown, Emma held the ring between two fingers. "Pretty much."
"I have a stipulation, Fancy Pants."
Emma frowned. "I knew you would."
"I'll do it, but if nothing happens, you only try it again when someone's around. You do not," he held up an index finger in front of her face, "I repeat, do not put that ring on again unless someone is with you. And by 'someone' I do not mean Granny. I mean someone physically able to stop you from doing something crazy."
"I promise." Emma stood up and looked around the room. "I think maybe I should sit in that chair." She pointed to an armchair in the corner upholstered to match the drapes.
"You want to do this tonight, right this minute?"
"Yes, Phil, I do. The ring is ready. I can feel it."
Giving in, he shook his head. "There goes a good night's sleep and god knows anything else we were planning to enjoy tonight."
Emma had been in the chair for over an hour, and so far nothing had happened. Lainey's ring was on the ring finger of her left hand. Her finger was slightly smaller than the ring, which moved about easily. Phil had been comforted by that, seeing it would be easier to slip it off in the event something dangerous occurred.
Phil yawned. It was just after midnight. Emma felt her own eyelids droop with sleepiness. "Maybe we should call it a night," she suggested.
"You won't get any argument from me."
Getting up from his post on the edge of the bed where he faced Emma's chair, Phil went to her and offered her his outstretched hands. She took them and let him gently pull her to her feet and into his embrace. He kissed her.
"Not everything can be resolved in one night, Emma. That ghost had a big emotional day, just as we did. She could be recharging her battery for her next move."
"You may be right."
Both beat, they crawled into bed. "Are you going to take that thing off?" Phil asked, noting the ring on Emma's finger.
She considered the jewelry, resting now without the heat or buzz of earlier. "No, I think I'll leave it on. Maybe the wearer has to have it on a bit before the ghost does anything."
Phil looked skeptical.
"Don't worry," Emma assured him. "You're right here. If I make a move, you're sure to know it."
Emma turned to her side and Phil snuggled up behind, wrapping a protective arm tightly around her. "If you so much as belch," he told her, "I'm going on alert."
fourteen
The air was chilly, and her bare feet were cold on the hardwood floor. Emma pulled the folds of the flowing silk dressing gown around her and tightened the belt before scurrying to the area rug with its exotic pattern. The runner ran the full length of the long corridor, which was illuminated by the soft, buttery glow of wall sconces. The hallway was empty, dotted on both sides by closed doors painted white. She heard talking from behind one and stopped in front of it, her hand hesitating on the ornate glass doorknob before going in.
Inside, a group of people in stylish but old-fashioned clothing were gathered in a well-appointed parlor. A fire burned merrily in the hearth. Three men stood by it with brandy glasses and cigars. On the other side of the room, three women were seated, two balancing teacups. One of the women, the one without a cup, looked up as Emma came in; the others ignored her. She was not much more than a girl---barely twenty, if even that---with a round, pretty face and dark hair piled high on top of her head. She was seated in a chair in a corner. Her large oval eyes brimmed with sadness as they stared at Emma without concern or fear.
"Just a firm hand," one of the older men said to a younger man with dark, slicked-back hair and a clipped moustache. "That's all the girl needs is a firm hand to get past this nonsense."
One of the women, an older woman, agreed. "Now that you're married, she'll calm down. You'll see." She took a delicate sip from her cup.
The young man glanced over at the young woman, then turned back to the others. "I'm sure Addy will come to her senses. She's a smart girl."
They were talking about the young woman in the corner as if she wasn't there. They couldn't see Emma, but the girl never took her eyes off of her. Behind the sadness, Emma saw and felt the anger in the girl's heart. It smoldered like hot coals waiting to burst into flames at the first stirring of a poker. The young woman watched Emma in silence until her face changed, and Emma was staring at herself. She gasped as she felt firsthand the festering hate fueling the anger.
It started as a moan. Then the crying started, a barely audible weeping at first, building into a succession of groans and sobs. Emma twisted and turned in Phil's grasp.
"Emma," he said, coming instantly awake. "What's wrong?"
Running out of the parlor, Emma dashed down the corridor and opened another door, looking for a way out. It wasn't an exit but a closet, empty except for a coarse rope hanging from somewhere near the top. The rope was a hangman's noose. Emma slammed the door. Going to the next door, she jerked it open. Another closet, another noose---this one made from a long, silken sash. Emma backed away.
"No," moaned Emma, her eyes squeezed tight. "No."
Phil shook her again. "Darling, please, wake up." He snapped on the bedside lamp. "Wake up, Emma," he said with more force.
The corridor had lengthened, seeming to go on forever, closed doors lined up on either side like soldiers at attention. She went to the opposite side of the hallway and jerked another open. Inside was the man with the moustache and the young woman. She was in a dressing gown like the one Emma wore, her thick, long hair undone and cascading down to the middle of her back. The man had his coat off and his sleeves rolled high on his strong forearms. In one hand was a strap. He lashed at the girl---at Addy---over and over as she cowered on the bed. One blow after another, the strap hit her back, her shoulders, her legs. He leered at his prey as the strap whizzed through the air to land painful blows upon its target, tearing the fine silk of her robe. Emma ran her hands down the folds of the dressing gown she was wearing and found it now torn to shreds.
"No!" Emma's voice climbed to a screech. "Stop it!"
Phil hopped off the big bed and rounded it, coming to sit on the edge on Emma's side. He grabbed her shoulders, lifting them off the bed several inches, and shook her gently. "Emma, it's Phil. You're having a nightmare." He shook her harder.
She screamed, her eyes still shut, and fought him. "No! Leave me alone!"
Running down the corridor, Emma came to the end and yanked open the last door. Inside were the two nooses---the rope and the silk sash---hanging side by side. At the end of the rope hung the corpse of a young man. At the end of the silk sash hung Addy, limp and lifeless. Emma stepped back in silent horror and clutched her middle, noticing that the sash from her own gown was missing. Addy's corpse lifted its head and, before Emma's frightened eyes, changed into Summer Perkins.
Emma screamed.
Outside the room, Phil heard footsteps. There was one short, hard knock on the door before it was flung open. Dr. Miller stood in the doorway in his pajamas. Behind him was Emma's mother in a long summer nightgown and robe. They looked with horror at the sight of Phil Bowers shaking Emma.
Emma's father grabbed Phil by the shoulder, but Phil shook it off. "She's having a nightmare," Phil explained. "I'm sure it has something to do with that damn ghost, but I can't seem to snap her out of it."
The padding of several small feet announced the arrival of Archie. Hearing the commotion, he'd left his bed in the utility room off the kitchen and had come up the back steps, his collar and tags jingling. As soon as the dog entered the room, he whined and took cover behind the upholstered chair.
"It is a ghost," Elizabeth announced, pointing at the dog. "And it's not Granny." She stood next to the bed, chilled to her bones by Emma's state. "Emma, dear, it's Mother. Wake up."
Emma fought her way out of Phil's grasp and shoved him with ferocity. "No!"
"Don't startle her," Dr. Miller ordered. "She's deeply asleep." Going to the other side of the bed, he sat down. "Phil, get ahold of her again, but in a tight embrace so she can't thrash."
With some difficulty, Phil managed to corral Emma's flailing arms until he held her in a tight cocoon. As Emma fought, Phil began to rock her gently.
"That's it," Dr. Miller said. "Calm her down." He turned to his wife. "Talk to her, dear, softly. And keep saying her name."
Elizabeth, her eyes wide with fear, starting cooing to her daughter. "Emma, it's Mother." She reached out and stroked Emma's hair, now damp with sweat. "You need to wake up, Emma. It's time to get up."
Between her mother's voice and Phil's rocking, Emma began to calm. Her crying lessened, and her jerky movements slowed.
"That's it, Emma," Elizabeth continued, fighting her own tears. "You need to wake up. Daddy and Phil and I are all waiting for you."
Between gulps of air, Emma softly wept but continued to keep her eyes shut tight, as if they were both sewn shut.
"The ring," Phil told them. "She had the ring on when we went to bed."
"Why in the hell would she do that?" Dr. Miller asked.
"Never mind that now, Paul," Elizabeth said.
"It's on her left hand. See if you can reach it and pull it off." Phil kept his arms wrapped tight around Emma.
Elizabeth grabbed Emma's left forearm and followed it until she found her hand. Phil shifted so she could get a better angle on it. "I have my hand on the ring," Elizabeth told them. "It feels hot."
"It did earlier, too," Phil said. "Now slip it off, but don't put your own finger through it."
While Emma continued weeping, Elizabeth twisted the ring and slipped it off. Emma went limp against Phil, and her crying ceased. He laid her back down against the pillow and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of a hand.
Emma's eyelids fluttered before she opened them wide. Just as quickly, she shut them and moaned, turning away from the light of the lamp. "What time is it?"
Her parents and Phil looked at each other with relief. Emma was back.
"Wake up, Emma," her father told her. "I need to make sure you're all right."
Emma threw an arm across her face. "Of course I'm okay, Dad, except for this blistering headache."
Removing her arm, she fluttered her eyelids again until she got used to the light. "What are you all doing here?" She sat partially up. "What's happened? Is it Kelly?"
"Kelly's fine," Elizabeth assured her. "It's you we're worried about."
Emma ran a hand through her short curls. "My hair's wet." Her hands traveled down over her nightgown, finding it stuck to her body in places. "So's my nightie." She looked to everyone, searching for an explanation.
"You were having a nightmare," Phil explained, "and we couldn't snap you out of it---at least not until we snatched that ring off your finger."
Her right hand clasped her left. "Where is it?"
"I have it, dear." Elizabeth opened her palm to show her the ring.
Falling back against her pillow, Emma closed her eyes, trying to remember what had happened.
"Did you see the ghost?" her mother asked.
"I think so." She opened her eyes and sat up again. Her mother put the ring down and adjusted the pillows against the headboard to help her.
"It was like a montage of creepy and frightening things. At one point, I didn't know if I was seeing Addy or if I was her. Then she became Summer. It was horrible."
"Addy?" questioned Phil.
"Addy?" parroted Emma. "Who's Addy?"
Again the Millers and Phil exchanged glances. "Just now, Emma," Phil said for them all, "you said you either saw Addy or was her in the dream."
While Emma tried to remember, her mother retrieved a cotton robe from behind the bathroom door and draped it over Emma's shoulders.
Emma thanked her mother, then tapped her forehead with a hand. "Addy---of course. That's the ghost's name." She pointed at the ring, which now rested on the nightstand. "The ghost in the ring is named Addy."
"Did you learn anything else about her?" asked her father.
"I ... I don't know. There was a long hallway lined with doors, and behind each door were horrible things, until the last one, which was the worst." She closed her eyes again and swallowed back fresh tears as the memory of the nooses returned. "Could I have some water?"
"Of course, dear." Elizabeth went into the bathroom and returned with a full water glass and two tablets. "Here, take these for your headache."
Emma popped the pills and slurped down the water, emptying the glass. Her mother left and returned quickly with a refill and a damp cloth.
"I saw a hangman's noose," Emma told them as her mother fussed over her, wiping her sweaty forehead. "Actually two."
"Were they hanging from a tree or scaffold or something like that?" asked her father.
She shook her head. "No, they were floating from above. One was made of coarse rope, the other was fabric. Silk, I think."
Phil cleared his throat. "Uh, anyone hanging from them?"
Emma nodded, her chin almost reaching her chest, and started crying again. "A young man hung from the rope. Addy was hanging from the silk one." She looked up. "She was dead. Then she came alive, and her corpse turned into Summer Perkins."
"Summer?" Elizabeth's hand went to her mouth.
"Yes, but before that---behind the door just before that one---I watched a man beating Addy over and over with a leather strap."
Emma stopped short. She lifted her face and looked toward the window. "Addy?"
Everyone turned to see what she was looking at, but only Emma could see the fuzzy outline drifting by the drapes. It was too close for Archie, who scooted out from his hiding place to cower by Elizabeth's legs.
"Addy," Emma said to the ghost. "Tell me what it means. How can I help you? Who was beating you?"
The fuzzy outline started filling in, and soon Emma saw the form of a woman, a young woman, in a long, old-fashioned, torn dressing gown. It was open in front, its sash missing, revealing a floor-length nightgown with lace around the neckline. Her hair was down, like it had been when she'd been beaten and hanging dead. She stared at Emma, her large eyes edged with tragedy and despair. Then she disappeared.
Exhausted, Emma dropped back against her pillow. "She's gone."
"Any idea where the poor girl is from?" asked Elizabeth.
"None," replied Emma. "But from the way the first room looked and the clothing the people wore, the time period was a long time ago." She looked at Phil. "Behind the first door was a parlor that looked a lot like the one at the Julian Hotel. It wasn't the same---it was much fancier---but it had the same style of furnishings."
"Hmm." Phil thought about the hotel in his hometown. Today it was a well-known bed and breakfast, but it was quaint and furnished to replicate the time when Julian was a booming gold-rush town. "I believe the period of those furnishings would be the late 1800s or early 1900s."
"That's what I'm thinking."
"Maybe you're channeling another ghost from Julian," he suggested. "Maybe Granny knows this Addy."
Emma considered that option, but something about it didn't feel right. "I don't think so. Although I didn't see the house I was dreaming about, the rooms I saw looked rather grand---the type of rooms and furnishings found in a mansion. Plus, the clothing they wore seemed expensive and fashionable for that time. A bit more upscale than that worn in a small country town."
Phil laughed. "Don't let Granny hear you calling Julian a small country town. She'll box your ears, or at least try to."
Dr. Miller looked at the clock. "It's nearly two in the morning. Why don't we all get back to bed?" He checked Emma's pulse. Satisfied it was normal, his hand moved up to stroke her face. "You sure you're okay, honey?"
"I'm much better, Dad, and my headache is going away. I'm sorry I woke you and Mother."
"Nonsense," said Elizabeth. "We're just so worried about you. Talking and seeing ghosts is one thing. I don't like this whole idea of you dreaming about them, too."
Emma reached out, took her mother's hand, and squeezed it. "Don't worry, Mother. The ghosts can't hurt me."
Her father wasn't convinced. "Tell that to Summer Perkins."
Shortly after the Millers and Archie left Emma's bedroom, Emma went into the bathroom to freshen up. When she crawled back into bed, Phil drew her into his arms and held her tight.
"Where's that damn ring?" he asked. "I hope you're not wearing it again."
"No chance." She cuddled close against his warm body. "I stuck it in the drawer of the nightstand. "I don't want to feel that way again."
"Well, at least the ring didn't try to kill you."
"No, it seemed more like Addy was trying to tell me something."
Phil squeezed Emma tight and kissed the top of her head. "So what's your guess? You thinking that little gal hanged herself?"
"Maybe." She thought about how she felt when she'd been Addy in the dream and the anger of Addy's current actions. "The depth of loss and despair I felt certainly indicates that, but why would she be so angry and killing people now?"
fifteen
"That ghost was hanged?" Granny rubbed a hand over her own neck. She'd been hanged by crooks posing as vigilantes after being accused of shooting her husband. The ghost shuddered. "We need to help her, Emma."
Emma glanced up from the papers on her desk. "Last night you didn't want me to help her."
"Last night I didn't know the poor child was strung up."
"I think she may have killed herself."
The ghost wandered around Emma's home office, a space she'd created in the Millers' guesthouse, a very large studio apartment with a bathroom and kitchenette, which also doubled as a home gym. "Where's Archie?"
"Mother took him to be groomed this morning. Dad and Phil are playing golf."
Granny seemed unsettled. "Are you sure that Addy killed herself?"
"Pretty sure, unless my dream meant something else." Emma put down the script ideas from her show and looked out the large sliding glass doors at the Millers' well-groomed back yard and garden. "There was a heaviness about the dream, Granny."
"Well, there darn well should be. The girl was beaten and hanged."
"Not darkness as in seriousness, but the way I felt during the dream. It was as if I'd been abandoned, or thought I had been." She looked at the ghost, who now lingered by the oil painting Emma had picked up last year on Catalina Island. The portrayal of Avalon Bay hung over the loveseat across from Emma's desk.
"I felt totally lost and without hope, like the darkness at the bottom of a well, with no chance of escape." She took a deep breath. "I think that's how Addy felt."
Granny turned to Emma. "So now what are we going to do?"
"I called Serenity this morning and spoke to Dr. Garvey. The police were out there last night and questioned Lainey. Dr. Garvey said she's quite shaken over Summer's death but is holding up, although they had to sedate her last night so she could sleep. It was the first time in weeks Lainey has needed medication."
"They didn't let you talk to Lainey?"
"I did speak with her briefly after I spoke with Dr. Garvey. She did seem okay in spite of everything. I told her Keith gave me her ring, and she asked me to keep it until she was out of Serenity."
"Did you tell her about Addy and the ring?"
"No, I didn't. At least not yet. I was going to tell Dr. Garvey, but it sounds so farfetched, I'm sure they'd try to lock me up." Emma shook her head. "It really is an outlandish theory---a haunted ring that tries to kill people. How is that even possible?"
"Some things simply defy explanation. How is it possible you and me can chat like this, with me being dead for over a hundred years?"
"Good point."
"Or me," said another voice out of the blue.
Both Granny and Emma turned in the direction of the voice in time to see the ghost of Max Naiman materialize.
Emma was excited to see him. Not knowing how long the elusive spirit would stay, she got straight to the point. "Max, did you know the stone in your ring was haunted?"
The spirit of the movie star drifted over to Emma. Granny perked up like an adoring groupie.
"No, not until yesterday. But right before my crash I'd started wondering if I might be possessed, like in a horror movie. I knew it was a stupid thought, but I didn't know what else to think."
"Did you tell anyone?"
The ghost shifted, moving back and forth in a nervous pattern.
"Emma's here to help you and Lainey," urged Granny.
"It's too late for me." Max turned, his hazy face twisted in anguish. "But you must help Lainey. I don't think she's out of danger yet."
"I have the ring, Max," Emma told him. "The ghost that killed you and Summer can't hurt her."
"You don't know that for sure. That ghost might decide she doesn't need the stone to go after her victims. Maybe she thought Summer was Lainey."
Emma rose from her chair and approached Max. "Are you thinking Addy---that's the name of the ghost in the ring---has a bone to pick with your family in particular?"
He shrugged, then twisted his neck several times, as Emma remembered him doing while he was alive. Max had suffered several injuries while doing his own stunts for movies, and his neck had always been tight after. It was funny how old personal tics and habits followed an individual into death.
"I don't know, Emma," he answered honestly. "Once I told Joanna about how I felt I was being possessed. She laughed---told me to get off the booze and stay off. I wasn't drinking at that time, but I started up again shortly after out of sheer desperation. I can't tell you how often thoughts of killing myself entered my mind before I finally sent that car over the cliff."
Emma stared at him. "So you did kill yourself?"
"Technically, yes, but I remember at the time feeling I had no control over my actions."
"Like Summer Perkins climbing up on the ledge. I don't think she did that on her own." Emma turned to stare out the window, then turned back to Granny and Max as a thought occurred to her. "But Lainey managed to turn the wheel at the last minute on both car accidents. And she fought to keep the knife from hitting a vital organ."
Max shook his head. "All three times I was there. I got her to yank the wheel of the car, and I deflected the knife."
Emma was intrigued. "You were able to do that physically?"
"I don't know how I was able to do it. I think it was more about concentrating on her mentally, like bringing her out of it at the last minute as I tried to physically move her."
"So it was some sort of emotional connection you made with Lainey?" In her head, Emma took notes. She was always learning from the ghosts about what they could or couldn't do. Often they themselves didn't understand the full range of their abilities.
Again, Max shrugged, but this time his neck remained stationary. "I remember putting all of my energy into it, like I was pushing a heavy car, trying to get it to move, while begging her to snap out of her trance. When it was over, I was so exhausted, I simply faded."
"Like you did when you used your energy to push Joanna back down into her chair yesterday. Or how she always feels weight on her when she thinks you're around."
"Yes. Dealing with Joanna is exhausting. It was when I was alive, too." He let out a sad little chuckle. "I've been trying to force her to pay attention to me, even though she can't see or hear me."
"She knows you're there, Max. Believe me, she knows, even if she didn't believe you when you told her about being possessed."
Emma saw Max starting to fade and rushed to her next question. "Why does Joanna avoid dealing with Lainey?"
"They were never close," he told her, his voice becoming feathery. "Joanna was always jealous of Lainey and of the time I spent with her, but it has become worse since Linwood entered the picture."
"I need to know about that ring, Joanna."
"Charming office, Emma. You can work out while you ... ah, do whatever it is you do." With disdain, Joanna indicated the treadmill and other exercise equipment that took up half of the guesthouse. "Must be how you keep your trim figure."
"Nothing like multitasking," Emma answered with false cheerfulness.
Joanna Reid was seated on the loveseat across from Emma's large desk. She wore immaculate linen trousers and a mint-green silk top accessorized by a gold necklace and diamond stud earrings. Emma wore navy blue capri pants and a white tank top. On her feet were white Keds.
After her dream of the night before, Emma had called Joanna several times that morning, demanding answers. Once Joanna understood that Emma was going to be a pest about asking her more questions, she gave in, agreeing to meet Emma Sunday afternoon at the Miller home in Pasadena.
"Where's the ring now?" asked Joanna.
"In a safe."
"Please get it for me, and I'll be on my way."
Emma shook her head. "Can't do that. I spoke to Lainey this morning, and she asked me to hold it for her. It's hers, after all. You gave it to her."
"I can call Lainey, too," Joanna sneered. She took out her phone. "You'll just have to give it to me in the end."
In spite of her intention to remain calm and professional, sarcasm escaped Emma's lips. "You don't call your daughter the entire time she's at Serenity Place, and now you expect to call and make her do something she clearly doesn't want to do?" She narrowed her eyes at Joanna. "Do you even have the number to Serenity Place?"
"I don't need it. I'll call Lainey's cell phone."
"Cell phones aren't permitted by patients. You have to go through the main desk to reach anyone."
Ignoring Emma, Joanna punched a button on her cell phone and put the device to her ear. After several moments and no answer on the other end, she ended the call with a hard jab at the screen of her phone.
Emma leaned forward in her desk chair. "Whatever influence you may have had on Lainey in the past, or whatever intimidation you used to get her to do what you wanted, it's over, Joanna. It ended when she checked herself into Serenity instead of the Baja facility, and she's only going to become stronger after this."
"That Baja clinic would have been the best place for her."
"An overpriced luxury prison where they drug their guests day and night?"
Joanna stared at Emma, her mouth open. "It is not. It's highly regarded. Lin knows a lot of people who've been there and rave about it."
"Lin recommended it? So you didn't check into it yourself before insisting your daughter go there?" Emma was disgusted, and she let it show.
"My father and I did some checking into that place this morning," Emma continued. "He's a doctor, you know. Turns out it's nothing more than a cushy place for the rich and famous to stash the more embarrassing members of their family. Or it's a haven for those pretending to seek help, especially those under court order. Drugs are handed out like candy. Last year a patient overdosed on heroin."
"You're lying."
"I wish I were." Emma sat back in her chair. "Lainey and her doctor chose Serenity Place because of its reputation for therapy without drugs. Your daughter is flourishing there, and you'd know that if you had any maternal decency."
Joanna jumped to her feet, her face full of rage. "You know nothing about me." She slung her purse over her arm and started for the door, then turned sharply about on her designer shoes. "I came here because you wanted to ask me questions. I accommodated you, and this is how you treat me?"
"You haven't answered any of my questions. It's obvious you came here to get the ring. Did you know it was haunted?"
"A haunted ring? Don't be ridiculous." Joanna made a sound of disgust in her throat. "When you told me that on the phone, I thought you were having a breakdown of your own."
Emma rose and took a few steps toward her. "Where did that stone come from, Joanna?"
"I told you. I got Max a new wedding ring. That stone was set in his ring when I bought it."
"And where did you buy it?"
Joanna hesitated before answering. "A shop over on Fairfax. A small shop that specializes in vintage and estate jewelry. I wanted to get him something special."
"The name, Joanna."
"I don't remember." Seeing Emma's skeptical look, she added, "Really, I don't. A friend recommended it to me. It's a small family-owned store near the old farmers' market."
"Well, that's a start." Seeing Joanna hesitating about opening the door, Emma decided to try to reel her back in. "Would you like something to drink, Joanna?" She went to the mini fridge in the kitchenette and opened it. "I have diet soda and Snapple tea, also diet."
"Nothing stronger?"
Emma checked again. "There's a nice chardonnay in here, too. It was opened yesterday." She glanced over at Joanna. "Or I could go into the house and get the hard stuff."
Joanna Reid walked back to the loveseat and perched on the edge like a bird ready to take flight at the slightest hint of danger. "I suppose the wine will have to do." She put her purse down on the small ottoman that also served as a coffee table.
Emma pulled the bottle out of the fridge and got down two rose-colored wineglasses from the cupboard above. Uncorking the bottle, she filled each halfway, emptying the bottle. She walked over to the loveseat and handed one to Joanna before sitting on the opposite side of the loveseat.
"There's a ghost in the ring," Emma said, cutting directly to the issue at hand. "The ghost of a young woman who is very angry. She convinced Max to kill himself and did the same with Lainey."
Joanna took a sip of her wine. "Do you really expect me to believe that?"
"You believe Max's ghost has been haunting you, so why not a haunted ring?"
"I was wrong. He's not haunting me. I was just being paranoid."
"No, Joanna, you weren't. As I've told you before, Max has been visiting you, and he's worried about Lainey. Max was with me at the condo when Summer fell."
Joanna nearly dropped her wineglass but managed to hang on to it. "That's impossible."
"He was there. He tried to help Summer, but the ghost in the ring got to her first."
"Did you tell the police that?"
"No, I didn't. Do you really think they'd believe it?"
"Why would anyone believe that nonsense? Including me?"
"Why, indeed." Emma twisted the stem of her glass between two fingers. "But in spite of what you're saying, I think you do believe me. At least you believe that Max has been trying to reach you. He also thinks Lainey is still in danger, even though she doesn't have the ring."
Joanna took a big swallow of the wine. "Do you think she's still in danger?"
"I'm not sure. It depends on what the ghost in the diamond wants. I've made contact with her."
Tilting her glass, Joanna drained the wine like water. Emma noticed the nervous gesture and continued. "Her name is Addy. I think she died in the latter part of the 1800s or possibly around the turn of the century, perhaps by hanging herself."
Joanna appeared shaken. "Do you have any more wine?"
"No, and besides, it's a long drive back to the Westside. You need to stay sober."
Joanna hung on to the wineglass, clutching it to her chest like a favorite teddy bear. She didn't look at Emma but stared off toward the far wall.
"Do you know anyone in your family's history or Max's named Addy? It could be short for Adeline or Adelaide."
Joanna shook her head. "No." She turned and faced Emma, refocusing. "No," she repeated, "I don't." She took a deep breath. "Didn't you say ghosts can't hurt us---or was that simply your own personal theory?"
"I think this ghost influenced or enticed Max and Lainey into hurting themselves. Same with Summer." Emma put her wineglass down. "Max told me he stopped Lainey each time."
"What?" Joanna's mouth hung open.
"It's true. He was there with Lainey in the car and the time in her condo when she tried to stab herself. He was somehow able to stop it at the last minute. He's watching over her, Joanna, like a guardian angel."
"He always did love that child to distraction. Not sure why death would change that."
Emma studied her. "Are you jealous of Lainey? Of her relationship with her father?"
Joanna gasped. "Don't be ridiculous. Just because I'm not the smothering type of parent you are, don't think for a minute I don't care about my child."
"And what's going on with Linwood?" Emma hoped the quick change of topic would throw Joanna off balance.
"What do you mean? What does he have to do with this?"
"You seemed nervous around him. You're a lot different when you're on your own."
Again Joanna jumped to her feet. "My relationship with my husband is none of your business." She slammed her wineglass down, nearly breaking it. Grabbing her bag, she headed for the door again. "Whatever is threatening Lainey, get to the bottom of it. Contrary to what you might think, I do care for my daughter. After, you and Max can both go straight to hell ... if he's not there already."
sixteen
Emma fed the parking meter next to her car and pressed the lock button on her key fob. As soon as her SUV gave off the alarm-set tone, she started walking up Fairfax. She'd cruised the few blocks in the vicinity of the farmers' market twice before spying several small jewelry stores just north of Beverly.
Phil had left early in the morning to return to San Diego and his law practice. They'd spent a good part of Sunday evening going over the facts they had so far on the ring and the ghost. Emma was going to do some research into the ring's history. She didn't know if jewelry stores kept information on estate pieces, but it wouldn't hurt to ask. Tucked inside her purse in a velvet pouch was Lainey's ring.
Her landmark was the farmers' market at Fairfax and Third. Joanna had said the jewelry store was near it. As she drove by, Emma glanced at the famous collection of souvenir shops, restaurants, and food booths that had been a tourist destination for decades. Today it was referred to as the "original" farmers' market to distinguish it from the dozens of community farmers' markets that rotated throughout Southern California on a weekly basis. The area around it had exploded over the years and included the upscale Grove, a mega shopping and entertainment complex, but the white clock tower still stood at the market as a reminder of a quaint and slower time.
When she and Grant were first married, they would often come down to the farmers' market early on a Sunday morning. They would grab a cup of coffee at one booth and a fresh pastry at another and sit at the small clusters of tables among other early morning Angelinos to pore over the Los Angeles Times. Before they went home, they'd pick up fresh produce and bread. Those had been good times, before Grant's career took off and changed him into an egomaniacal serial skirt chaser.
The first jewelry store she checked out had the usual basic inventory, nothing special. When she inquired at the second shop about estate pieces, she was directed farther up the block to another shop called Sachman & Sons.
The storefront of Sachman & Sons was the least imposing of the three. Its front windows, set on either side of the door, displayed the usual necklaces and rings. A small placard was posted in the right window announcing that they specialized in the purchase and sale of estate jewelry. To back up their claim, the right window had a small display of some lovely vintage pieces, including some exquisite cameos. Another small sign announced that the store bought gold.
Through the window, Emma saw a man working behind a counter. The door to the shop was locked. Another small sign posted on the glass front of the door invited customers to ring the doorbell on the right side for entry. About a foot and a half above the bell was affixed an ornate mezuzah, a case containing scripture found on many Jewish doorposts.
Emma poked the center of the doorbell and heard a buzzer sound within the store. The man looked up from his work and studied Emma. A second later, she heard another buzz, and when she tried the door, it was unlatched.
The store was small but bright and cheerful. A U-shaped glass display case filled with various items of jewelry, coins, and fine accessories lined three sides. Behind them were glass wall cases spotlighting other objects.
"Good morning," the middle-aged man greeted her as she entered. He was tall and slight and wore a dark suit with a white shirt and dark tie. His angular face, with its long, straight nose, sported glasses with thick black frames and a close-cropped beard and moustache of gunmetal gray. Perched toward the back of his thinning hair was a simple black yarmulke.
"Good morning," Emma replied back with a smile. She approached the counter. "I have some questions regarding estate jewelry. Are you Mr. Sachman?"
"I am Joseph Sachman, one of the sons. Did you have something to sell, or are you looking to purchase?"
"Neither, though you do have some lovely cameos in the window. You don't see them much anymore."
The man smiled and nodded. "They are a particular favorite of my mother's, though women don't wear them as they used to."
"My mother also loves them." Emma glanced back at the window display but could not see the items facing the street.
As if reading her mind, the proprietor said, "Mother's Day is coming up."
Emma gave a soft laugh. "That's exactly what I was thinking." She turned back to the business at hand. "But today I'm actually looking for information on a piece you may have sold several years ago, maybe five or six years back. Do you keep information on your better estate pieces?"
"For insurance purposes we keep a detailed inventory on everything. If an estate or antique piece is of particular interest, we might also keep some side notes. Are you sure it was purchased here?"
"Pretty sure. It was a very large diamond set flush in a man's band." Emma pulled a small pouch out of her purse and emptied it onto one of the velvet pads sitting on the counter. Lainey's engagement ring tumbled out. "The stone in this ring was set into a man's band that you sold to a friend of mine, Joanna Reid." She paused to correct herself. "Her name was Joanna Naiman then. She bought it as a gift for her husband Max."
"Max Naiman, the movie star?"
"Yes. He died shortly after. Recently the stone was removed from his band and reset for his daughter's engagement ring." Emma indicated the ring on the pad. "This is that ring."
Mr. Sachman pointed to the ring. "May I?"
"Yes, of course."
The jeweler put on his glasses, then picked up the ring and examined it. "Lovely stone." He took off his glasses, brought out a jeweler's loop, and brought it to his eye to check the stone further. When he was finished, he put his glasses back on. "What is your connection to this ring?"
"In speaking with Mrs. Reid and her daughter, we've come to believe this stone may have a fascinating history connected to it. They are interested in looking into it, and I'm assisting them." Emma pulled out one of her business cards and gave it to Mr. Sachman. He examined it.
"I remember when Mr. Naiman passed. Very tragic. I did not personally sell his wife the original ring, but I believe I do remember it. It's not often we have such large diamonds set in men's rings. Let me see what we have in the way of records."
He put the ring back down on the velvet pad and walked to the other side of the store to a computer. Emma picked up the ring and followed him on her side of the counter.
After a few hunt-and-pecks at the keyboard, during which Mr. Sachman offered up a few hems and haws, he turned his attention back to Emma. "We did sell Mrs. Naiman a man's ring with a stone of this size. In fact, it seems we sold that ring twice."
"Twice?"
"This shop is patronized by entire families, generation after generation. That gentlemen's ring was purchased here many years ago, then resold to us when the owner died, along with other estate items."
"Who owned it before the Naimans?"
Returning to the keyboard, he continued his search. "Interesting." The comment was made to the computer screen but still caused Emma's ears to perk up. "Would you excuse me a moment?"
Before Emma could say anything, Mr. Sachman ducked through a door marked Employees Only.
While she waited, Emma's eyes wandered over the items in the display case. Sachman & Sons really had some exquisite antique pieces. She found a few more cameos and studied them through the glass, thinking one really would make a lovely gift for her mother.
"Wow, look at all this stuff."
Without turning, Emma said to Granny in a whisper, "Do you think Mother would like one of these cameos?"
The ghost materialized and peered at the brooches Emma indicated. "Sure do. They're beautiful. I used to have one. Jacob gave it to me when our son was born. Not as fine as these, but I did love it."
"Which one do you think she'd like the most?"
"I like this one---it looks sort of like the one I had." Granny pointed to a fine carving of a woman with a crown of flowers.
"That is lovely. Maybe when we're done here, we'll have a look at it."
The ghost looked around. "If you're not buying something, why are you here?"
"I'm hoping they can tell me about the stone in Lainey's ring. This is where Joanna bought it."
Emma heard the office door open. "Now shhh."
The ghost crossed her arms. "Humpf. It's not like he can hear me."
Mr. Sachman remained by the office door. "Would you please follow me, Mrs. Whitecastle." When she hesitated, he added, "My father would like to speak with you, but it is difficult for him to come to the front of the store."
Going between a break in the large counter, Emma went behind the display and followed Joseph Sachman through the door. Granny followed them.
The back of the store was smaller than the front and was divided into two sections. The larger portion contained a compact kitchen with mini fridge and microwave and a small round table with two chairs. Industrial shelving held boxes of supplies such as bags and boxes, large rolls of gift wrap in plain silvery blue, and rolls of white ribbon. Straight back was the back door to the shop, and to the side another door that was slightly ajar. Through that door Emma spied the corner of a sink and guessed it to be the bathroom. Everything was neat as a pin.
The other part of the room was sectioned into a private office. Its door was open, and it was through there Mr. Sachman directed Emma.
The inner office contained a large safe and an L-shaped desk that also doubled as a work table. A black gooseneck magnifying lamp hovered over bits and pieces of a watch in mid-repair. Behind the desk sat a fragile old man with a white beard and silky white hair. Like his son, he wore a dark suit and a yarmulke, though his was ringed with embroidered images of the Star of David. In his delicate hands was Emma's business card.
"Mrs. Whitecastle, this is my father, Isaac Sachman. He may have the information you're seeking."
"Mrs. Whitecastle, please," said the old man. He indicated a seat across from him on the other side of the desk. "You'll have to forgive me for not standing, but my legs are rather withered from arthritis. Fortunately, it has spared my hands, which in my line of work is a blessing."
Emma sat in the chair.
"Would you like some tea?" he asked. "Joseph can make us some." His voice was edged with a European accent and had the wobble of age.
Emma smiled at both gentlemen. "No, but thank you."
Joseph gave her courteous nod. "I must return to the front. I leave you in the best of hands, Mrs. Whitecastle."
From across the table Isaac Sachman studied her, squinting his aged eyes to slits. "Why do you really want to know about that particular stone, Mrs. Whitecastle?"
Emma fidgeted like a schoolgirl who didn't know the correct answer when called upon. She tried not to look at Granny, who was standing at the edge of the table watching Sachman. "As I told your son, I'm looking into the history of the ring purchased for Max Naiman."
"Joseph tells me you have the ring."
"No, just the stone from it. It was reset into an engagement ring for Max's daughter, Elaine."
"May I see it?"
Emma opened the hand in which she clutched the ring. It had grown warm, but Emma didn't know if it was because of the heat of her body or that Addy was active. She held the ring out to the jeweler, who took it and examined it closely.
"This certainly does look like the stone from the other ring." He held it under the magnified lamp. "Yes, same distinct fire as I remember."
"Mr. Sachman, do you know the history behind this stone, such as where it came from? Your son said something about your store selling it twice."
The old gentleman gave her a small knowing smile. "One of the reasons I got into the specialty of estate and antique jewelry was my fascination with the people who owned such beautiful things. My family and I came to this country when I was very young. We were quite poor. My father was a watchmaker, and I learned that trade from him at a very early age. When I was older, I apprenticed to a jeweler in a fancy store in New York and learned all about fine gems and metals. Many rich people came into the store, spending with extravagance when they were happy and flush, then selling when their fortunes waned. All quite fascinating to a young man who was taught to be frugal and sensible whether your pockets be empty or full."
Grasping the lower end of Lainey's ring, Mr. Sachman held it up between them. The large diamond sat high and proud on its prongs.
"A fine piece of jewelry isn't discarded like worn clothing or an old, battered sofa. It endures long past the life of its original owner, most often passing from generation to generation, like a family name, but sometimes sold in a time of desperation or apathy."
"And this stone?"
"Tell me, my dear, what is your suspicion about this particular stone?"
Emma looked the old man dead-on. "I believe it has a very tragic past."
"Which includes your friend Mr. Naiman?"
"Yes, including him."
Still holding the ring, the old man tapped Emma's business card, which now sat on the desk to his left, with his other hand. "I know your television show, Mrs. Whitecastle. I have seen it a few times. Very interesting. Given the topic of your show, it is even more interesting that it is you who is inquiring about this stone."
"As I mentioned, the Naimans were friends of mine. Their daughter is still a close friend of my daughter's."
"And the fact that you are a known investigator into strange occurrences has nothing to do with your curiosity about this particular piece?"
Granny leaned in close. "He's playing with you, Emma. I think he knows the ring is haunted."
"I think you're right." Emma was looking at Mr. Sachman, but her words were meant for Granny.
"Are you speaking to me," he asked, "or to the spirit hovering just to your right?"
Emma's mouth dropped open before she could stop it. She collected herself just as fast. "That spirit is my great-great-great-grandmother, Ish Reynolds. She just told me she thinks you know the stone is haunted."
Isaac Sachman put Lainey's ring down on the table and rubbed his hands together lightly. "And she would be partially correct. I didn't know for sure it was haunted, but I've had my suspicions something wasn't quite right about it." Mr. Sachman gave a gracious head bow in the direction of Granny. "Welcome to my humble establishment, Mrs. Reynolds."
"You can see her?" Emma asked.
"Not clearly. All I ever see are small, sparkly clouds, like diamond dust floating on the air. And, unfortunately, I cannot hear them as you obviously can. I've had this ability since I was a child but didn't realize what it was until I was a young man working with that fancy jeweler. Maybe it's another reason I enjoy following the history of other people's finery---it's almost like knowing them. And gems are living things; they are born of the earth, just as we are."
Emma liked Isaac Sachman and his thoughts on gems and their owners. "Besides Max Naiman, how did the previous owners of this stone die? Do you know that?"
"My memory isn't always the best, so let me consult my notes."
He turned toward a computer that sat on the outstretched arm of the desk, but instead of pecking on the keyboard, Mr. Sachman opened a small lower drawer. From it he retrieved a ragged leather-bound journal. It bulged with scraps of paper and newspaper clippings and was held together with a thick rubber band. Removing the band, he placed it on the table between them and began flipping through the yellowed pages, all of which were filled with a small, tight scrawl.
"Here we go." From the spot he chose, he pulled a small photograph, an aging Polaroid, and handed it across the desk to Emma. "This is what the ring looked like when it was a man's ring."
The photo was of a man's wide band with the stone set flush in a dome at the middle. There was interesting scrollwork on either side of the stone, running halfway down both sides of the band. Seeing the photo brought memories back to Emma of Max wearing the ring.
"Yes, that is Max's wedding ring. Joanna gave it to him when they restated their vows."
While Emma studied the photo, Mr. Sachman read his notes on it. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Emma turned the photo toward Granny for her to see. He smiled and went back to his reading.
"Because of the unique nature of this stone, it seems I've done quite a bit of research on it." He flipped a page over and gave it a quick scan. "I have many notes, though I'm not surprised, considering its questionable nature." He pulled out a small newspaper clipping about Max's accident and showed it to Emma.
She leaned forward, eager to know what else was in the journal. "Besides Max Naiman, do you know how many of the previous owners died?"
"They all died, Mrs. Whitecastle, but I'm sure you meant died suspiciously."
"I did." It was clear to Emma that while the old man's legs were weak, his mind was as sharp and as clear as the diamonds he sold.
"Let's see." Sachman ran a bony finger down the pages. While he did so, Emma pulled a pen and small pad of paper from her handbag to take notes.
"Prior to Mrs. Naiman buying it, the man's ring was owned by a famous attorney in Beverly Hills. He shot himself while his wife was out of town. According to this, he'd purchased the ring himself less than a year before that happened. We bought it back from his widow about four years after his death. We had it here in the store another three years before it was purchased by your friend."
He turned another page and scanned it before finding the new information he sought. "According to my notes, before that it was owned by a banker. He bought it from a colleague of mine, but not as a man's ring---it was an engagement ring. He bought it for his fiancée, a young woman almost half his age."
Emma looked up from her notes. "I almost hate to ask what happened to him."
Mr. Sachman flipped a few pages forward. "It wasn't until Mr. Naiman's death that I started going back in time to track the ring. My notes on the earlier history are actually more recent."
He found the page he was looking for and spread the journal wide, smoothing the pages down. "Here we go. The banker bought the engagement ring many years ago, sometime in the late sixties. Shortly after, his fiancée died of an overdose of sleeping pills."
He tapped the book. "That poor family suffered."
"I'm sure any death is traumatic."
"More so this. The banker eventually did marry, and many years after his first fiancée's death, he came to me to extract the stone and reset it into a ring for his only son. That was the first time I ever saw it. I remember him telling me that he had kept it in a safe-deposit box all those years."
"So you reset the stone, not realizing it had a history?"
"Correct." Mr. Sachman took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He looked at Emma through eyes the color of faded denim. "His son shot himself six months later, and my customer died of a broken heart not too soon after. It was through his estate that the ring returned to me for resale, but, of course, I didn't know it was cursed."
Granny became agitated. "The sooner we get rid of that monster, the better."
"That's what I'm trying to do, Granny." Emma turned back to Mr. Sachman. "What about prior to the banker buying it? Do you know where the ring originated?"
"I'm afraid I'm not sure, but the setting was definitely Victorian, and it wasn't a copy of a Victorian design but the real thing. There were also a few small diamonds used as accents. My customer didn't care about those when he asked me to put the stone into a man's ring. The setting was so lovely, I paid him for the setting and eventually put a different diamond into it."
Emma became alarmed. "Do you know what happened to the new owner of the setting? Maybe it has a problem, too."
"I am happy to say the owner is alive and well and still wearing the ring." Mr. Sachman winked at Emma. "You see, my son Joseph gave it to the girl he married almost thirty years ago."
"And no problems?"
"Not a one."
"Where did the other jeweler get the stone from? Did you ask?"
He consulted his notes again. "It says here he bought it through a private sale somewhere back east in the mid-sixties."
"Is it possible to speak with this other jeweler?"
"I'm afraid not. Jonas died three years ago. Cancer."
"I'm very sorry."
Isaac Sachman accepted her condolences for his friend and closed his journal. "Tell me, Mrs. Whitecastle, who or what do you think inhabits the ring?"
Emma picked up the ring and held it to the light. It was warmer than before. "Her name is Addy. She was an abused young wife who I believe hanged herself."
"Oh, my." Mr. Sachman leaned back in his chair. "And what do you propose to do now that you know this?"
Granny scowled. "She should destroy the ring, that's what the little fool should do."
Emma turned to Granny. "It's not my ring to destroy, Granny. And there's no way of knowing if that will get rid of or appease Addy." Emma studied the ring again. "What I want to do is help Addy and save the ring for Lainey. It was her father's, after all. It has a lot of sentimental value. I just have to figure out what it will take to do both."
"Well, hurry up," snapped Granny, "before you become her next victim."
seventeen
"You do, and I'm marching straight into the house and telling Elizabeth." The threat came from Granny. She was standing in the middle of Emma's home office, pointing in the direction of the Miller house. "And Phil."
Emma curled a lip at the ornery spirit. "Phil only understands yes or no."
"Trust me, I'll find a way to make him understand. And I'll do it tonight."
"Tattletale."
"It's not tattling if it's about something dangerous."
Trying a different tactic, Emma erased her annoyance and replaced it with reason. "Granny, I can't help Addy if I don't know anything about her."
"She's killed"---Granny paused to remember what Sachman had told them, ticking off the victims on her fingers---"she's killed five people, counting that Summer girl. Six if you include the banker who died of grief over his son."
Emma looked down at the notepad in front of her where she'd listed each one of the deaths. Granny was right. Five victims and one indirect death.
"And who knows how many there were before that?" the ghost ranted as she paced the office. "Or how many narrowly escaped, like Lainey."
"But you'll be here if something happens," cajoled Emma.
"No. And that's final."
Emma fingered Lainey's ring. After dinner, she'd retreated to her office with the plan of learning more about Addy. She'd called to Addy, entreating her to show herself so they could talk. She'd held the ring in her hand, trying to convey she wanted to help. It had gotten warm, but no ghost materialized.
"You're just angry because I wouldn't let Archie come out here tonight." She looked up at Granny. "It was for his own good. You know angry ghosts scare him."
"Then don't fetch her out of the ring. Leave her be. Lock it in a strong box, and throw away the key." The ghost came to a stop in front of Emma, her hazy face bright with an idea. "I know: why not throw it into the ocean like that old lady did to that diamond necklace in the movie we watched last week?"
"We've discussed that before, Granny. There's no reason why that should work. You know better than I do that ghosts need to be attached in some way to a person, place, or thing from their past or present. The ring is Addy's past thing, but now that she's made contact with us, she doesn't need the ring to come out. She only needs to be around a place or person she's made contact with in the present. Either Addy doesn't know that or she does and prefers the ring. Either way, locking up the ring or destroying it may unleash her in other ways. At least for now, the ring contains her."
"By calling her out, Emma, you're poking a sleeping, rabid dog."
Emma shook her head back and forth slowly. "I don't believe that. I think if we help her, she'll stop killing. She's lashing out because she's angry and frustrated."
Granny crossed her arms in defiance. "You've been watching too much Dr. Phil."
"I don't watch Dr. Phil, Granny, you do. Almost every day with Mother, and you think I don't know." Emma cranked down the frustration in her voice. She wanted Granny's help and knew that arguing with the old mule wouldn't secure her assistance. She also knew Granny was right; calling out Addy could be very dangerous. "You'll be here with me. If something goes wrong, you can fly into the house to get Mother and Dad in a flash." When Granny still didn't say anything, she added, "Remember how frustrated you felt after you were murdered. You wanted me to help you, didn't you?"
Crossing the floor several times, Granny kept her back turned to Emma. She did understand what Emma was saying. She had been frustrated for nearly a hundred years until Emma brought her peace. She turned to Emma. "But I never killed anyone, did I?"
The dead and the living stared at each other, sharing a family stubborn streak that ran as deep and wide as the Colorado River.
"Okay," Granny finally said, throwing her hands up in the air. "I'll stay with you while you wear the ring." She floated over to Emma and pointed a finger at her. "But the minute I feel you're in danger, I'm getting Elizabeth."
"Deal."
Before Granny could change her mind, Emma slipped Lainey's ring on her left ring finger and curled up on the loveseat to wait.
"Besides," she told the ghost watching over her. "We don't even know if she'll come out tonight."
"With any luck, she won't."
Emma didn't feel the same way.
"Could we at least watch some TV while we wait?"
"You watch entirely too much TV, Granny."
"What else have I got to do? It's not like a ghost can knit a sweater or get a job."
Emma shook her head and chuckled. "You have a point." She picked up the remote sitting on the ottoman and clicked on the TV mounted on the main wall of the guesthouse. "Anything in particular?"
"Just keep clicking." Granny moved toward the TV and stared at it. "There. Stop. That's NCIS. I like that show. That Mark Harmon's a hunk."
Emma toggled over to the channel schedule. "Looks like an NCIS marathon on the USA Network." She flipped back to the program and put the remote back on the ottoman. "That should keep you busy for a while. Just remember to pay attention if something odd starts happening with me and the ring."
"Don't worry; I've got your back."
Granny drifted back to the loveseat and perched on the end opposite Emma. She tried to pick up the remote, but her filmy hand slipped through it. "I gotta figure out how to work that darn TV thing on my own."
Emma walked down a narrow street. She was going downhill. It wasn't a steep incline, just a gradual one. On both sides of the street, old-fashioned townhomes and buildings in various degrees of restoration were set close together, and shops displayed wares. Cars were parked along the curb. Some were coming up the street, straight at her. Before she could jump out of the way, a Honda sedan sped through her as easily as if she were smoke. Surprised, she turned and watched it go up the street, paying her no mind. Turning back around, she met a pickup truck head-on. Emma screamed, but no sound came out. Like the Honda, it drove through her. Bewildered, she moved to the narrow sidewalk and kept walking down the street, passing people along the way. No one paid her any mind. She was wearing the same dressing gown from before, even though from the way folks were dressed it must have been chilly.
She passed several quaint buildings, including a red brick building with a black iron fence and gate. Lettering across the top of the building proclaimed it the Dimmick Memorial Library. More charming buildings, both residential and commercial, lined both sides of the street. A little farther down was an inn, its balcony railings made with the same ornate ironwork as the library. Emma kept walking until she came to a major intersection. Cars were stopped for the light. Other cars were moving through in the opposite direction. On the corner was an imposing stone building with a clock tower. A sign designated it as the court house.
Emma crossed the street, heading for a small town square, drawn to the red brick building on its edge. It was a train station. People were milling about and taking photos of it. Looking up, she saw a sign that read Mauch Chunk. When she looked back at the train station, it had changed. It was early morning. Nearby were horse-drawn carts and carriages instead of cars. On a bench in front of the train station sat a young woman with a travel case on her lap. She wore a long dress and coat with a snug bodice. The veil on her hat partially covered her face.
Feeling a bit dizzy, Emma closed her eyes to get her bearings. When she opened them, she wasn't at the train station but inside the cellar of a dark, dank building. Along the walls were openings, doorways into a series of closets. The only light came from yellow overheads and tiny openings in the boarded-up windows in each closet.
She stepped inside one, running a hand along the wall to guide her toward the speck of light. Her hand hit something hard and heavy. It was an old chain embedded into the crumbling plaster. She studied the chain, the room illuminating as her mind cleared. She wasn't in a closet, she was in a cell. An old, empty cell with thick walls of stained plaster. At the end of the chain were manacles. She stepped back in revulsion and turned to flee, but the heavy door closed, cutting her off.
As she pounded on the thick metal door, a man walked through it. She backed up. Another man came through the side wall, followed by another. Dressed in rough work clothes, with dirty hair and faces, they stared at her with hollow eyes. She backed up a few more steps until her legs hit something solid. Turning, she saw a filthy toilet built into the corner of the cell. She jumped away from it, coming face to face with yet another man as he came though the wall next to her. He was young, with dirty, matted light hair and large, sad eyes. Around his neck was a thick rope---a hanging rope. It was the boy from her prior dream---the one hanging dead in the mansion's closet.
He held out his hand to her, beckoning her to come with him. "Addy."
Hopelessness again filled Emma. It coursed through her body like dirty water pouring into an empty hole. She felt crushed by it, consumed and buckled by its weight, as she took his cold, lifeless hand.
"Emma!"
On the loveseat, Emma stirred, half in this world, half someplace dark and tragic.
"Wake up, Emma!"
The sound wasn't loud and solid but gauzy, as if fragmented by time and space. Still, it was familiar, and it pulled her back like a welcoming hand of help.
"Mmm." She shifted her weight on the loveseat. It was much shorter than she was, and she pulled up her legs to fit. She didn't want to go back to the jail, but somewhere in the rational part of her mind she knew she had to. She needed to know what it all meant. She drifted back to sleep.
"Emma, come back!"
Soft air brushed her face. It was fresh, and it tickled. Her eyelids fluttered in static movements of half consciousness.
"That's it. You come back right this minute or I'm going for your mother." Granny stamped her foot and blew against Emma's face as she had earlier against Phil's ear. "I mean it." She blew again and again, mustering all her energy for maximum wind.
"Mother?" Emma opened her eyes. Shut them. Opened them again. When she focused, the jail was gone. She was back in her home office. The TV was on, and she was dressed in jeans and a tee shirt. Staring down at her was the ghost of Granny Apples, looking very upset.
"Never again," the spirit snapped at her. "Never again will I let you do that. Take off that darn ring right this minute."
Emma sat up and ran a hand over her face and through her hair. She shook her head to clear it. "The ring?"
"Take it off, I tell ya. Right now." Granny paced the room in a mixture of relief and anger.
Emma looked down at her hand to see Lainey's beautiful engagement ring on her left ring finger. "But Addy didn't try to hurt me, Granny. She was trying to tell me something."
The ghost came to a stop directly in front of Emma. Her hands were on her hips. "I don't give a cow's bell about that. Take the ring off. "
Granny was right. The ring had proved itself to be dangerous and unpredictable, even if it was helpful to Emma. She slipped it off and got up. Walking to her desk, she found the ring's pouch and dropped it back in. She yawned and stretched as her eyes searched for a clock. "What time is it?"
"About two in the morning, I think." The ghost moved up to her and looked into her face. "You were asleep nearly four hours before you started getting all peculiar, moaning and stuff. I was worried."
Emma sat down at her desk and held her head in her hands. She was exhausted but wanted to piece together her dream before she forgot it. "I was walking down the narrow street of a town. The buildings looked old-fashioned, but there were modern cars on the street. At the end of the street was a train station. The name of the town was posted."
"You think that was Addy's home?"
"Could be, but darn if I can remember what the name of the town is now. All I know is that it started with an m." She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to recapture the word, but it eluded her. "I was also in a jail cell. An old, dirty one." She opened her eyes and looked at Granny. "The ghosts of men were coming through the walls at me."
"Did they try to hurt you?"
"No, they just filled the cell, surrounding me." Emma swallowed. "One of them had a noose around his neck."
Granny stroked her own neck and shuddered. "Go on to bed, Emma. Maybe it will come to you in the morning. Then again, with any luck, maybe it won't."
"You're probably right, Granny. I am exhausted. Just like last time, the dream took a lot out of me. And I have a show to do tomorrow." She picked up the velvet pouch and started shutting down the office to go inside the house and to her own bed.
"Leave the ring here," the ghost told her.
"Why?"
Standing in front of Emma, the tiny ghost crossed her arms. "Because it's safer here."
"Don't you think the ring would be safer in the house?"
"Not the ring, you. You'll be safer if the ring stays out here. Less temptation to put it back on."
Emma turned off the TV. "Don't you trust me, Granny?"
"It's Addy I don't trust."
eighteen
"Great show today, Emma. One of your best."
"Thanks, Jackie. Congratulations to you, too."
In spite of her nocturnal escapade into Addy's world, Emma had arrived at the studio early in the morning for makeup and wardrobe and to go over her notes. They had one more episode to shoot before taking a break. The Whitecastle Report was an hour-long talk show, but it took much more than an hour to shoot. After makeup, she'd greeted her guests and chatted with them briefly about the show's format before they actually got in front of the camera. Today's show had been a panel discussing Stonehenge's history and possible present paranormal activity. Her guests included a British historian, an archeologist, and a modern Druid. Even though Emma had done quite a bit of reading on the subject and had visited the mysterious prehistoric structure years before, the show had been Jackie's idea, and she had been allowed to produce much of it.
Jackie Houchin, a young African-American woman with intelligence as impressive as her attitude, had been dividing her time between The Whitecastle Report and a popular travel show ever since Emma's show began. She was doing a bang-up job, and the studio kept giving her added responsibility, but it was her dream to break into mainstream TV.
"How did your interview go with NBC?" Emma asked.
"Okay, I guess. Though I'll bet over two hundred people applied for that position."
Emma hated the thought of losing Jackie, but she knew the young woman would have to move on in order to move up, and she was talented enough to deserve the chance. But television was a tough business, and talented or not, it might be a long time before Jackie was able to make the jump, in spite of the glowing references from Emma and others who worked with her.
"Keep your chin up. If not this job, something else will open up for you."
"Yeah, that's what my mom says."
"Well," said Emma, giving Jackie an encouraging smile, "I'm a mom, and I'm telling you the same thing."
After Jackie left her office, Emma opened her laptop and started poking around on Google. She hadn't had time to research what she'd learned from her dream the night before and was eager give it a try. Maybe if she started on the puzzle now, she might jiggle enough memory loose to finish it up later at home. She still couldn't remember the words on the sign at the train station, and it poked at her like a sharp stone in a shoe. She had more now than just an m. It was two words---two short, choppy-sounding words, the first of which started with an m.
Sitting back in her desk chair, she closed her eyes and tried to piece together the dream from the night before.
"Emma, wake up."
Emma opened her eyes to find Granny staring at her. "I am awake, Granny. I was just trying to remember my dream from last night."
"For a minute I thought you'd put that darn ring on again."
"The ring is at home, in my parents' safe."
"Good," Granny proclaimed with a downward jerk of her head.
"I still can't remember the name of the town posted on the train station. It's really bothering me."
"How about other landmarks?"
Emma gave it more thought. "The town looked more East Coast in design---and historical, like it was being preserved. There were mountains or large hills all around, covered with trees." She paused a moment to filter through her memory. "And a river, I think. Just past the train station, I'm sure I saw a river."
"That could be most anywhere."
"That's what's so frustrating." Emma set her fingers lightly on the laptop's keyboard as if it were an Ouija board that would lead her to the answer. "And a library. I know I saw a brick library with a sign giving its name. Remembering that name should give me a start." She looked again at Granny. "Argh! I have nothing to go on except that, and it's so frustrating. I can't research it if I don't have a starting point."
Emma's fingers stayed on the keys, itching to move and bring to life the memory caught in her head. Again she closed her eyes. Once more she pictured herself walking down the street of the town and passing the library. Her fingers started moving---d-o-m-m. Then they stopped.
"You got it?" asked Granny.
Emma opened her eyes. "It started with a d. Dommick, Dommenic, or something like that."
"A d library in an m town." Granny pointed to the laptop. "Try putting that into that there Google thingy."
"I still need more to go on." Emma took a deep breath and rubbed her temples, hoping it would come into her thoughts if she emptied them of stress. "A d with two m's."
"Try going down the alphabet and sounding it out."
"That's a great idea, Granny."
Emma swiveled her head around, trying to relax even more. The movement created faint snaps and pops. "I need a massage."
Pushing thoughts of a relaxing massage out of her head for the moment, Emma got to work by closing her eyes again. "Dammick. Demmick. Dimmick. Dommick. Dummick." None of them held up a hand to get her attention. She tried again, reciting each more slowly. "Dammick. Demmick. Dimmick. Dommick. Dummick."
"Should I come back when you're not doing voice exercises?"
Startled, Emma popped her eyes open and sat up straight, snapping her head in the direction of the voice. At her office door stood Dr. Quinn Keenan, one of the guests on her show that day.
"Look," said Granny with enthusiasm, "it's Indiana Jones."
Emma was about to remind Granny that Indiana Jones was not a real person but stopped herself. She spoke so naturally to Granny that sometimes she forgot others could not see or hear her, much less believe in her existence. Instead, she smiled in the direction of Dr. Keenan, noting to herself that he did have an Indiana Jones appeal about him.
Dressed in jeans and a khaki shirt with a tweed sports jacket, Dr. Keenan positioned his tall, fit body in the doorway, one hand raised and posted against the frame. It was a confident, cocky pose. Emma had read his bio. He was forty-eight years old and from Philadelphia, with a PhD in archeology from Columbia and a master's degree in ancient civilizations. He'd worked with the Stonehenge Riverside Project for a number of years before recently returning to the States.
"Dr. Keenan," she began, instinctively pushing her bobbed hair away from her eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't see you there. I thought all the guests had left."
"I did leave---then a phone call brought me back."
Granny cleared her throat. "Ask him in, you little fool."
Resisting the urge to frown at the ghost, Emma indicated a chair across from her desk. "Please come in."
Dr. Keenan smiled and settled into the chair. "Thank you." He looked around her office, his eyes coming to rest on a photo of Kelly taken in Europe the summer she graduated high school. "That your daughter?"
"Yes, that's Kelly. She's just finishing up her sophomore year at Harvard." Emma's voice tinkled with pride.
"She looks a lot like you. Same color hair and Wedgwood-blue eyes."
"Uh-huh." Emma liked his flirtation but wasn't about to appear easily taken in. "She also has her father's sharpness of tongue, though she's better disciplined with it."
"Ah, yes. Your ex is the infamous Grant Whitecastle, is he not?" Dr. Keenan stifled a chuckle.
Grant wasn't a topic Emma enjoyed visiting with strangers, or even with friends. "Do you have children?"
"Yes, a son named Peter. He lives in New York. I'm heading there tomorrow morning for a visit."
"Sounds lovely." Emma decided to move along the small talk. "What did we forget, Dr. Keenan?"
"Forget?" His voice was slightly on the husky side and easy, like warm slippers for the ears.
"You said we called you back."
"Oh, that. No. The call wasn't from your studio. It was from a friend of mine who lives here in LA. We had dinner plans, but something came up. So now I have reservations at Craft and no dinner companion. I was hoping you might let me take you to dinner as a thank you for having me on your show."
"A date," Granny gushed. "Hot diggity! Indiana Jones is asking us out on a date."
Once again, Emma wanted to snap at Granny but held her tongue, something that was getting more difficult to do as Granny danced around like a fairy with a hot foot.
"Boy." Granny circled Dr. Keenan. "I thought that Max Naiman was a hunk, but this guy takes the cake."
Emma had to agree with the giggling spirit. Dr. Keenan's easy good looks were something she'd noticed before---the first time when reviewing the photo attached to his bio. His tanned face played host to rugged features, including a slightly askew nose and eyes the color of faded emeralds. Surrounding his eyes and quick-to-smile mouth were deep sun lines. His hair was streaked with gray and sun bleached to a dusty brick. He wore it longer on top, swept back away from his face, except for one wayward lock that flopped close to his left eye. Emma fought the urge to reach out and push it aside, as she'd done with her own a moment before.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Keenan," Emma began.
"Quinn or QC, please."
"Excuse me?"
"Please call me either Quinn or QC," he told her.
"QC, as in quality control?"
He flashed her a sexy smile of small, even teeth. "Exactly. It stands for Quinn Charles, but in college pals started calling me QC because I was so fussy about details. The name stuck. My son is Peter Charles, or PC."
Emma laughed. "I don't know if you're kidding or not."
"It's true. Everyone but his mother calls him that."
"And is he politically correct?"
"PC is of mixed race, gay, and works for Jon Stewart. You decide."
It brought out another laugh. "Your invitation is lovely, but I'm afraid after I do some research here, I'm heading home. Fighting traffic into Century City isn't exactly on my list of fun things to do on a Tuesday night, no matter how charming the invitation."
Granny was exasperated. "You're not turning him down, are you?"
"We don't have to go to Craft," he told Emma. "That was the request of my prior dinner partner, who works in that part of town."
From the way Quinn referred to his now-defunct dinner companion, Emma was sure it had been a woman.
"Tell me where you'd prefer to go," he offered.
"Seriously?" Emma leaned forward, her hands clasped together and resting on her desk. "Right now I'd like to go deep into my memory and retrieve a piece of forgotten information."
"Is it for a future show?"
It wasn't, but Emma wasn't about to tell a man called QC about Addy and the ring. "It might be; I'm not sure yet. It's a place."
"Places are my specialty." The archeologist leaned back and stretched out his long legs. "Come on," he challenged. "Tell me what you have so far. If I help you remember, you go to dinner with me."
Granny hopped up and down. "Oh boy, a game! I hope he wins."
Emma pursed her lips and twitched them back and forth as she surveyed Quinn. There was no way he was going to be able to find Addy's town any more than she could. She glanced over at Kelly's photo and let her eyes wander to the frame next to it. It was a photo of her with Phil. Their arms were wrapped around each other, and they were laughing. Quinn noticed her diverted attention.
"That your current husband?" The way he said current made it sound like there might be a succession of husbands in Emma's life down the road.
She turned her attention back to him, her face serious. "No, but he is a man I'm involved with."
"Are you thinking he wouldn't like it if you went to dinner with me?"
"You're a guest of my show, Dr. Keenan. He would understand."
"So it's a yes?"
"You are persistent, but you haven't won our bet yet." She looked at him, trying to decide how to handle the situation. "Tell you what: you help me find my missing library, and I'll go to linner with you."
Quinn leaned forward. "Linner?"
"That's what my friend Tracy calls it when you dine too late for lunch and too early for dinner."
"Doesn't exactly sound like fine-dining hours."
"There's a very good café right down the street from here that serves all day."
"Denny's?"
In spite of her resolve to remain unmoved by Quinn's charm, Emma let out a short laugh that came close to a snort. "You'll find out if you get that far."
Quinn got up and shrugged off his jacket, tossing it across the back of another chair. "Bring it on," he challenged.
For a brief moment, Emma latched her eyes onto his. They were deep and wide, warmth mixed with impish intelligence. She wondered what she was getting herself into.
"The names you heard me reciting are close to the name of a library I'm trying to remember," she told him. "I was about to start plugging them into Google to see if I could get a hit. I think the library is also made of red brick."
"Have you been there?"
"No, it's just something ... something I once read about and want to research."
He studied her with curiosity as he gestured toward the keyboard. "Let's see what comes up."
Emma tapped in the first possibility---Dammick. Nothing, although it did suggest an Arden-Dimick Library in Sacramento, California. She clicked on the link for that library.
"That's a brick library," noted Quinn as he looked over her shoulder. Hovering over her other shoulder was Granny.
Emma shook her head. "It's too modern. The place I'm looking for looks Victorian."
"The building?"
"The whole town. Victorian and in a valley surrounded by hills and trees."
Quinn gave her an odd look but said nothing.
Emma tried the next one---Demmick. Nothing again, but the search gave her a couple of other suggestions. The first was a library called Booth and Dimock Library in Connecticut. The link brought them to the home page for the library and a photo of a large red brick building.
"How about that?" asked Quinn. "It's not Victorian, but it's definitely old."
The building in the photo was large and beautiful, with a white steeple and tall white pillars. "Too grand."
"Where exactly did you first learn of this library you're seeking?"
Emma ignored his question and went back to the search page to investigate the other suggestion---a Dimmick Library in Pennsylvania. The home page was green and offered up a lot of information, such as hours and services. She scrolled down until she found a photo of the building.
"That's it!" Emma squealed. "That's the building I saw in my dream."
"Are you sure?" asked Granny.
"I'm positive."
Quinn backed away and moved around the desk. He took his seat and stared at Emma, his eyes brimming with curiosity, his mouth pursed. "A dream? You saw that library in a dream? You said you'd read about it somewhere."
Emma looked down at her hands. The cat was out of the bag. Would he think her nuts? Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and met his stare. "It was a dream, Dr. Keenan. I saw this place in a dream, a rather disturbing one. Considering what my show is about, you shouldn't be surprised."
He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other in amused relaxation. "On the contrary, I'm not. I'm curious. Tell me what else you saw."
Emma didn't answer. Instead, she studied the photo on the web page. "It says here it's located in Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania." Pennsylvania. Mr. Sachman had said his friend had purchased the original ring from somewhere back east. The dots were beginning to connect.
She looked across the desk at Quinn. "If memory serves me, Jim Thorpe was from Oklahoma. Why would a town in Pennsylvania be named after him?"
"After he died, his remains were sold to the town," Quinn explained. "They constructed a memorial to him and renamed the town. Probably some sort of bid to bring in tourists."
"You know this place?" Her surprise was short-lived as she remembered he was originally from Pennsylvania.
"I've been there. It's a charming historical town near the Poconos. It was called Mauch Chunk long before it became Jim Thorpe, and it has a very interesting history."
Mauch Chunk---the two words flashed before Emma's memory like a neon sign. They were the words she had seen on the sign at the train station.
Like sparrows fleeing a hawk, Emma's fingers flew over the keyboard of her computer until they located the website for the town. A menu of links was listed on the left-hand side. One link was for a photo gallery. A quick click and she was face to face with photos of the town. She scrolled through them, stopping at one in particular. It was the street she'd walked down in her dream. A few photos later, she saw the hotel with the iron grill work, then the train station and the clock tower.
She let the slide show of Jim Thorpe photos play, one after the other, while Quinn and Granny watched her in silence. Something inside Emma stirred with each photo. She'd been here before---maybe not physically, but she'd seen this town in the depths of Addy's ring.
When the slide show was done, Emma clicked back several photos until she saw the one for the Old Jail Museum. She hadn't seen the outside of the jail in her dream, only the inside. Going back to the town's website, she navigated the link to historic attractions. From there she found the website for the Old Jail Museum. As soon as she viewed the photos, she let out a gasp.
Quinn shot forward. "You okay?"
Granny put her face close to Emma's. "Emma, what is it?"
"Granny," she said, tapping the computer screen and totally forgetting about Quinn, "I must go here."
"Are you all right, Emma?" Quinn asked again as he came around to her side of the desk and stood next to her. His eyes scanned the computer screen, taking in the photos of the dank, dirty prison. "This is the old jail in Jim Thorpe. It's a museum now."
Goose bumps the size of small green peas broke out on Emma's arms as she navigated through the website, finding even more chilling photos of the prison. One showed a wooden gallows, another a hangman's noose. She started shivering.
"Are you alone, Granny?" she asked, still not caring if Quinn heard her or not.
"Yes, I am, Emma. Whatever is making you shiver is coming from those photos. Is that the jail from your dream?"
"Yes, it is." She pointed to one of the cell photos. "I was inside one of these cells."
Quinn looked around Emma's small office. He saw nothing outside of generic furniture. "Who are you speaking to, Emma?"
Dragging her attention away from the screen to Quinn, she said with the bluntness of a karate chop, "The ghost of my great-great-great-grandmother."
She waited for him to challenge her, to show disbelief or mockery, but instead Quinn studied her face again, then reached out and touched it. It was a light touch, just the tip of two fingers against her smooth left cheek, as if she'd disappear before his eyes if he dared to press harder. She didn't move away, but she didn't encourage him. Sensing he was trespassing, he removed his hand.
"But you said you've never been to Jim Thorpe."
"I haven't," she affirmed. "I saw it in a dream just last night."
Quinn squatted down in front of Emma. After a brief hesitation, he took one of her hands in one of his and held it like a fragile egg. She didn't pull away. "Tell me about it, Emma. Tell me about the dream."
When she hesitated, he gave her a smile of encouragement. "In my line of work, I've seen many strange and bizarre things. I've met many people like yourself all around the world---people who have connections to other worlds and beings."
He pointed to the computer screen with his free hand. "That prison has a very specific history. In the late 1870s, unjustly accused and convicted men were hanged there, railroaded by the wealthy owners of the mines in which they worked. They were called the Molly Maguires. Ever hear of them?"
"I sure did," Granny said. "It was in the newspapers even in Julian. It happened several years before I was hanged myself. The papers said those Irish men were traitors and conspirators---downright criminals."
"Granny said the men were convicted criminals."
"They were working men speaking out for better conditions in the mines. They wanted fair treatment and better wages to support their families. The owners of the mines squashed them like bugs and labeled them murderers and criminals. The investigations, arrests, and even the trials were all handled by people connected to the mining companies."
What did hanged miners have to do with Addy and her vengeful behavior? Emma couldn't see the connection. "There were men in my dream. The ghosts of men in dirty work clothes. I was inside a cell like this one, and they came through the walls at me."
"A cell like that one there?" He tapped one of the photos.
"Yes, there---where manacles are attached to the wall, and there's almost no light."
"That was a solitary confinement cell. It's in the dungeon of the prison."
"So you've been there? Inside the jail, I mean."
"Absolutely."
She clutched the hand that held hers with urgency. "I must go there, Quinn. As soon as possible."
"The jail is closed until Memorial Day weekend, but I know the owners. Maybe they will let us inside before then."
"Us?" Granny asked. "Is Indiana coming with us?"
Emma was wondering the same thing. She slipped her hand away from his. "I would appreciate any help you can give me, Quinn, connecting with the owners. And the thumbnail of the history of the place was very helpful, but I need to go on my own."
Pushing back her desk chair, she got up. "My show may be public, but the contact I have with spirits personally is very private. This situation doesn't just involve dead people but people still alive. I need to protect their privacy. I'm sure you understand."
Quinn stood up. Although Emma was tall, he was nearly a half-foot taller. He put his hands on her shoulders. "I want to help you, Emma. I'm professionally fascinated by this ... and personally fascinated by you."
She slipped out of his grasp and moved away, her mind working overtime to sort out her next move.
"I need to take a rain check on that dinner, Quinn."
"Okay, dinner's off, but at least you've dropped the Dr. Keenan again." He watched her with the cunning of a fox.
"I'm sorry, but I want to go to Pennsylvania right away, and I have some things I need to attend to before I go, including contacting the owners of that jail."
"As I said, I'd be happy to do it for you."
She picked up a business card from a stack in a holder on her desk and scribbled down her cell phone number and personal email address. "I know it's an imposition, especially with you flying to New York tomorrow, but it would be a great help." She slipped him the card. "They can reach me by phone or email. Tell them I plan on being in Jim Thorpe no later than Friday and would appreciate meeting with them and seeing the prison."
"Frankly," Quinn said, looking at Emma's card, "I think they're going to be very excited to meet you. They give ghost tours at the jail. It's supposedly haunted."
Emma glanced once more at the photos on the computer screen. "There's no supposedly about it. That jail is definitely haunted."
nineteen
Once again Emma was sitting across from Lainey Naiman at Serenity Place, this time on a patio just outside the community room and snack bar. Her plans to leave for Jim Thorpe as quickly as possible were not jelling up. Quinn had done his part, and in short order Emma had received an email from Betty Lou McBride, one of the owners of the Old Jail. As Quinn predicted, the McBrides were excited at the prospect of meeting Emma but would not be available until the following week. This Sunday was Mother's Day, Betty Lou had explained, and they would be tied up all weekend with family. She suggested that Emma visit Jim Thorpe after that.
In her excitement over finding Addy's home, Emma had forgotten about Mother's Day. She'd even bought the cameo from Sachman's for Elizabeth. This was also Phil's last weekend in town before his trip with his sons. The Millers and Emma had planned on going to Julian for the weekend. She'd invited Keith Goldstein and was going to invite Lainey, though she hadn't heard from Keith since Summer's death. Frustrated by the delay and antsy to deal with Addy, Emma made plans to fly to Jim Thorpe first thing on Monday morning.
After spending much of Wednesday communicating with the McBrides and ironing out her travel plans, Emma had decided to head to Julian on Thursday morning, ahead of her parents, and see Lainey on the way. She'd called Dr. Kitty to clear a time and was told to be there by ten thirty, before Lainey had lunch and got down to her afternoon classes and activities.
Lainey played with her eco-friendly reusable water bottle, turning it around in her hands. "You said on the phone you know why I tried to kill myself. Is that true or just another psychological theory to add to everyone else's?" In spite of the sarcasm, Lainey's voice held hope in a fragile grasp. Holding up a hand, she started ticking off points. "My mother is controlling and doesn't love me. I'm not over my father's death. I hate Linwood. Abandonment issues. What do you have to add to the list? Oh, and let's not forget to add my fiancé's infidelity and a friend's death by dropping from the balcony of my home."
Before seeing Lainey, Emma had spoken with Dr. Kitty. Even though the doctor had made it clear in their last meeting that she considered ghosts hooey, Emma felt she needed to tell the doctor what was going on. Being a Hollywood wife had taught Emma a few tricks, like not being shy about dropping names if it could open doors. In this case, Emma dropped her parents' names, hoping it would give her more credibility. It had. Dr. Kitty's fond memories of Emma's parents and their time in Hawaii paved the way for her to at least listen to Emma's explanation about Lainey's ring.
"I'm not saying I believe this outlandish theory," Dr. Kitty had told Emma in her office just before Emma visited Lainey. "But neither do I believe Miss Naiman is or was a suicide risk. She's a survivor, and she'll survive even these recent events. But something made her try to kill herself, so why not give your idea a go. Just be delicate, if you can. And if Lainey doesn't believe it, don't push the idea."
Emma had agreed.
"Lainey, I'm not going to downplay any of the things you and your doctors have discussed in therapy. I'm sure you have some of those issues. We all have personal problems and tragedy in our lives. But I also know you're a sensible young woman and that you didn't consciously try to kill yourself."
"But something drove me to do it unconsciously?"
"Yes." Emma hesitated, wondering if she should simply blurt it out. It wasn't every day you had to tell someone a ghost was out to kill them. She wasn't sure of protocol.
Pulling the velvet pouch from her purse, Emma emptied Lainey's engagement ring onto the table between them. Seeing it brought tears to Lainey's eyes. She started to reach for it, then clasped her hands together and placed them in her lap.
"Keith called me, you know. Yesterday." She looked from the ring up to Emma. "He said he was sorry and that he'd never stopped loving me. He said being with Summer had been a big, stupid mistake."
"He does love you, Lainey. I have no doubt of that."
"He asked if there was some way I could forgive him."
"Can you?"
Lainey sniffed back the tears as she grabbed for a napkin from the dispenser on the table. "I don't know." After a brief silence, Lainey added, "But he also said I should listen to you." She gave Emma a weak smile. "Is it your job to convince me to go back to him?"
"No, Lainey, that's not my job. When all this is over, you two should privately work out your problems like any other couple."
With caution, Emma picked up the ring and placed it in the palm of her hand. There was no time like the present to jump into the deep end of crazy talk. "Lainey, I know this is going to sound nuts to you, but I believe it was this ring that caused you to try to kill yourself."
Lainey was in the midst of taking another sip from her water and nearly gagged at the words. She stared at Emma. "My ring? Are you kidding?"
"No, I'm not. You know that I'm involved with the paranormal, don't you?"
Lainey nodded. "Yes. I've seen your show, but I didn't realize you believed all that stuff personally. I thought you were just the host." She paused. "I once asked Kelly about it, but she just said it was your job."
What was Kelly supposed to say? Emma knew Kelly believed in Granny's existence, but talking about things like that with her friends was probably more distance than her daughter was willing to travel for the time being. And it was probably for the best.
"It is my job, but I'm also in contact with various ghosts and spirits."
Lainey's eyes popped open with expectation and more hope. "Have you seen my father?"
"Yes, Lainey, I have. He's with you a great deal. He's probably the reason you managed to thwart your own suicide attempts at the last minute. He was watching over you and protecting you."
The young woman closed her eyes as her tears changed from drips to heavy rain. "I always thought I could feel him near me, but I dismissed it as wishful thinking." Using the napkin, she blotted her eyes again. "Is he here now?"
Emma smiled to herself, noting how quickly people believed in spirits when it brought them what they sought emotionally, whether it be closure of a loved one's death or comfort. She looked around but couldn't see any ghosts, save Granny, who was hovering by the edge of the building, lost in her own interests.
"No, Lainey, he's not. But he was here the last time I visited, and he seems to spend quite a bit of time around you. He's asked me to help you."
Lainey studied the ring in Emma's hand. "But that ring was his. How could the ring want to kill me if it belonged to my father?"
"I believe the ring killed him the same way it tried to kill you."
"You mean my father didn't commit suicide, like my mother thinks?"
"Not any more than you did." Emma picked the ring up from her palm, holding it by the lower edge so the huge diamond faced skyward. It flickered with an internal fire enhanced by the late-morning sun. "As outrageous as it sounds, I believe the spirit of a young woman inhabits this diamond. What I've been able to determine so far is that her name is Addy, and she was an abused wife who lived in a small town in Pennsylvania in the late 1800s. I also believe she hanged herself when she was about your age."
Lainey leaned back, away from the ring.
"I don't know why she's going after people who wear this ring," Emma continued, "but I need to find out before she kills again."
Lainey looked up at Emma with saucer eyes. "Kills again?"
"I was able to trace some of the history of this ring. Many of the prior owners killed themselves. Summer Perkins was wearing it right before she fell."
A hand shot to Lainey's mouth to squelch her terror. "My ring killed Summer?"
"The night before, when she and Keith were drinking, she tried on your ring and forgot to take it off. The next morning I believe the ghost in the ring enticed her up onto the railing. Summer was behaving in a very antagonistic manner right before then."
"But neither Keith or the police said anything about the ring being linked to Summer's death."
"They know nothing about it. When Keith was in the other room letting the police in, I saw the ghost and realized the ring was the connection. I convinced Summer to take it off, thinking it would save her, but it was too late. Addy had too much influence over her. Summer managed to get the ring off but fell anyway."
Lainey put her water bottle down on the table. Getting up from her seat, she wandered to the edge of the patio, where she leaned against a support beam. She stared out over the peaceful grounds, her arms crossed in front of her defensively, as she tried to digest what Emma had just disclosed. She shivered slightly in the warm sun. Giving her time alone, Emma remained at the table and watched the activities of other residents and staff. In the distance she heard a lawn mower.
Granny floated over to Emma. "I gotta tell you something."
Emma whispered to Granny. "Can it wait? Lainey's in a lot of distress right now."
The ghost danced from foot to foot like a child needing to pee. "I think it's important."
"Okay, then."
"There's a man over by the edge of the building. I think he's spying on you."
That got Emma's attention. She started to turn to look, but Granny stopped her. "Don't look. He'll know we're onto him."
"What does he look like, Granny?"
"He's dark skinned. Young. His hair's all snaky."
"He has dreadlocks?" When Granny seemed confused, Emma added, "His hair is twisted into lots of skinny ponytails?"
"Yeah, like I said---all snaky."
It sounded like the yoga instructor Lainey had pointed out the last time she was at Serenity. Emma searched her memory for his name and came up with Jamal.
"He works here," she told Granny, keeping her face turned away from the side of the stucco building. "Dr. Kitty probably recruited him to make sure I didn't overstep my bounds." She paused to think, not sure if her conclusion was on target. "Still, let's be sure. Can you keep a close eye on him for me?"
Granny gave her a short salute. "I'm on it, Chief."
As soon as Granny headed off on her assignment, Emma pushed Jamal out of her mind and concentrated again on Lainey. She got up and went to the young woman; standing next to her, both of them focused their eyes on the rolling green lawn. Lainey had stopped shaking and was more composed.
"So, what now?" Lainey finally asked, still not looking at Emma.
"I'm going to Addy's hometown in Pennsylvania next week. I need to find out why she's killing people. Maybe I can bring her enough peace so she'll stop."
"And the ring?"
"I want to take it with me. I think it will help to return Addy to her home." Emma turned to Lainey. "I want you to sell me the ring."
Lainey jerked her head in surprise. "Sell it to you? But why?"
"I don't know what will happen to the stone once Addy is faced with her past, and it's too valuable to not compensate you in case it gets damaged."
Lainey returned her eyes to the landscape. "I won't sell it to you, Mrs. Whitecastle, but take the ring and do what you have to do. If the ring survives, it survives, and I'll deal with it then. If it doesn't," she shrugged, "I'm not out anything. Not really. My mother bought that ring for my father. It was supposed to represent a renewal of their relationship, but it was all a sham, like most things with my mother."
"Do your feelings have anything to do with Linwood Reid?"
She nodded. "Everything to do with him." She turned back to Emma. "You were friends with my parents, Mrs. Whitecastle, but did you know my mother was carrying on with Lin back then?"
The disclosure shocked Emma. "No, I didn't."
"Yep, right up until my parents decided to give their marriage a second chance. And how convenient that the great Linwood Reid was there to comfort her after my father died." Lainey's face hardened as she spoke. "And here's another piece of information for you: Lin tried to buy off Keith. Right after we announced our engagement, he offered Keith money to end our relationship and forget about me."
Emma remembered Keith telling her the same thing, but he'd also said he hadn't told Lainey about it.
"Apparently," Lainey continued, "he thought Keith was a gold digger and wanted to protect me." Lainey shook her head. "It's one of the things Keith told me when he called yesterday. He also said my mother later offered him money to stick around and marry me as soon as possible." She smiled for the first time since their meeting began. "He said he told them both to go to hell." She shook her head. "If anyone's a gold digger, it's Lin, not Keith."
It was the same thing Max had told her. "But Linwood Reid is a very wealthy man, why would he be a gold digger?"
"Who knows, but I know my mother has turned all of her assets over to his management. He tried to take control of mine after they married, but they were locked up in a trust managed by my father's lawyer. When I turned eighteen he tried to palm me off on his nephew---some pretentious ass much older than me. But I was onto him."
Emma tilled the information over in her head like fresh soil in a garden. "Lainey, I got the feeling when speaking to your mother that something's amiss between her and Lin. It's almost like she's afraid of him or something. She's very submissive around him and seems unhappy."
She shrugged in response. "I'm not sure what's going on, but I agree, my mother has changed. I've tried to tell her he's just a creepy common criminal in designer suits, but she won't listen."
Remembering what Phil had told her about Linwood Reid, Emma had to agree.
Lainey took a deep breath and uncrossed her arms. She faced Emma, her face softened. "Take the ring, Mrs. Whitecastle. Please. If Keith and I get back together, it will be without that ring. To me, now it will always be what killed my father. There's no way it's going back on my finger, not even if you manage your exorcism."
Emma thought about Isaac Sachman and his interest in the ring. "If the ring survives, I know a jeweler on Fairfax who will gladly buy it from you or trade it for another ring you might like more."
Emma reached out and lightly stroked Lainey's hair. The girl leaned into the affectionate gesture, her eyes welling up again. Realizing Lainey was starved for maternal love, Emma's heart broke. She made a mental note to herself to call Kelly as soon as she could.
"Lainey, would you like to come to my home in Julian for the weekend? My parents will be there, and I've invited Keith, though I haven't heard from him. Dr. Kitty said you would be able to go if you wanted."
"Thank you, Mrs. Whitecastle, Keith did mention it, and so did Dr. Kitty, but let me think about it. Okay?" She wiped her wet face with the shredded napkin still clutched in her hand. "You've given me quite a lot to think about, and I need to sort it all out." She walked over to the table, picked up her water bottle, and took a drink.
"I'm staying in Julian through Sunday. Just call my cell phone, and I'll come over and pick you up."
Back in her car in the Serenity parking lot, Emma placed a call to Kelly. As usual, it went to voicemail. Emma left her daughter a message letting her know she was going to be on the East Coast next week. Maybe after her business in Pennsylvania, she could pop up to Boston for a visit. Kelly was due home soon for the summer, but Emma didn't want to wait to see her.
"Boo!" shouted Granny, popping into the car and scaring Emma.
"For Pete's sake, Granny, even though your voice isn't loud, it's still unnerving when you do that."
The ghost laughed. It wasn't often she caught Emma off guard, and the ornery spirit liked the prank. "310-555-8168," Granny said.
"What?" Emma turned.
"310-555-8168," Granny repeated. "It's a phone number. Write it down before I forget. My memory ain't what it used to be."
Emma punched the numbers into her phone but didn't hit the call button. "Whose number?"
"Don't know, but that guy with the snaky hair called it after he spied on you and told someone everything he heard."
Emma immediately saved the number into her smartphone's memory before it could get lost. "Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure. He spied on you. I spied on him. I was looking over his shoulder, memorizing it."
That didn't make sense to Emma. If it was Dr. Kitty having Jamal keep tabs on her discussion with Lainey, he could have easily walked into her office to give her a full report, and it would have been more private. Emma poked at the screen on her phone until she shut off the caller ID feature that would display her number to those she called.
"What are you doing?" asked Granny. "Calling it?"
"Not until I block them from seeing my name and phone number." Done with the task, Emma hit the call button to dial the number Granny had given her. The phone rang several times before voicemail answered. Emma listened in disbelief before ending the call.
"Who was it? That doctor?"
"No, Granny, it wasn't. It was Linwood Reid, Lainey's step-father."
twenty
Emma hurried from her car back to the office area of Serenity. "I forgot to tell Lainey something," she told the receptionist. The woman behind the desk waved her through the wide doors leading to the main part of the property.
Emma made her way through the large waiting area with sofas and chairs arranged in various conversational groupings and headed for the community room. Emma was relieved to see Lainey back to leaning casually against the post. She wasn't happy to see Jamal with her. Granny went on ahead and, without a word from Emma, set up shop next to them to eavesdrop.
Emma had to think fast. As much as she wanted to grab Lainey and drag her away from Jamal, she knew that tactic wouldn't work. Lainey liked Jamal, and it would make Emma seem like a hysteric---especially after the story about the ghost in the diamond. She had to tell Lainey what she knew without coming off as crazy and disruptive to the peace at Serenity.
Before Lainey could see her, Emma went inside and approached the desk. "Do you have a piece of paper?" she asked the receptionist. "I want to give Lainey my daughter's information, and it's probably best to write it down for her."
The woman handed her a half-sheet piece of notepaper and a pen. Emma quickly jotted, Act naturally. Jamal works for Linwood Reid. Remember, Keith said to trust me.
"You gotta get out there," Granny said, popping up next to Emma. "Snaky is convincing her to dump Keith for good, leave Serenity, and go back home to her mother."
Folding the sheet of paper, Emma thanked the receptionist and, as calmly as she could, walked back out to the patio. When she caught Lainey's attention, she waved and walked over to her.
If Jamal was bothered to see her, he didn't let on. He was in his early thirties, with the slim, strong body that goes with being a professional trainer. His workout clothing, black shorts and a tank top with neon blue racing stripes, fit him like a glove, showing off his buffed biceps and thighs to their best advantage. His dreadlocks were pulled back, fastened in place behind his head. He gave Emma a friendly nod of greeting when Lainey introduced them.
"Did you forget something, Mrs. Whitecastle?" Lainey asked her.
"Yes, I did." She held up the folded sheet of paper. "Kelly wanted me to pass along this note to you. It's important, so maybe I should wait for you to read it in case you have a response."
Emma turned to Jamal and smiled. "Kelly is my daughter. She and Lainey have been friends since they were little."
The yoga instructor smiled back, his smile wholesome and healthy-white against his mocha skin. "Lainey has mentioned Kelly."
Placing a hand gently on Lainey's arm, Emma guided her a few steps away from the post and turned her slightly, hoping to keep Lainey's face away from Jamal's sharp eyes. She handed her the note and held her breath as Lainey read it.
"This can't be true." Lainey's words were short and incredulous. She started to turn to Jamal, but Emma cleared her throat in warning, stopping her.
"It is. Kelly wanted you to be one of the first to know."
"I'll need a minute to think about this." Lainey studied the note with hard eyes, as if the words might change if she looked away.
From behind them, Jamal said, "Sounds like girl talk. I'll shove off and let you ladies chat." He reached out and touched Lainey's shoulder. She snapped the note shut.
"Will I see you for class later on?" he asked.
Lainey glanced over her shoulder. As a second thought, she tossed him a small, tight smile. "Absolutely, Jamal. Can't wait."
As Jamal took his leave, Emma looked in Granny's direction, trying to give her nonverbal instructions. The ghost understood.
"Right," Granny said. "I'll follow him and see what he's up to."
"Are you sure about this?" Lainey asked, her face twisted with concern.
"Yes. I overheard him talking on the phone as I was leaving." It was a lie, but Emma didn't think this was the right time to explain about Granny. "I could be wrong," she quickly added, "but he was standing by the edge of the building when we were talking before. I think he was listening. And I don't think there are too many Linwoods in the world, at least not connected to you or this place."
"You actually heard him say Lin's name."
"Yes." Emma swallowed the lie in disgust. Phil was right, she was becoming adept at all kinds of unsavory behavior, but right now it was important to protect Lainey.
"Why would Linwood Reid be following your every move?"
"He always has, Mrs. Whitecastle." She dropped down into a chair at a nearby table with a weariness too old for her youth. "As soon as I returned from Europe, he started watching me like a hawk and tried to marry me off. It was just after I turned eighteen. I stayed with him and my mother for a while, but he gave me the creeps."
Emma's face darkened. "Was he inappropriate with you, Lainey?"
The girl's head snapped up. "You mean sexually?" She shook her head gently from side to side. "No, not at all. But he tried to control everything I did, everyone I saw. Like I told you before, he even tried to convince me to let him handle my money. You know, invest it for me." She snorted with disgust. "But I can read, Mrs. Whitecastle. I'm not some rich, spoiled bimbo with my head in the sand. Lin's been under all kinds of investigation for years. Why my mother didn't know that or didn't pay any attention to it, I have no idea. She's not a stupid woman, but she sure is when it comes to him."
She stood up again and stretched, trying to loosen the ugliness from her body, the note still clutched in her hand. She looked at it again, once more making sure it said what it did. "Keith didn't say to trust you, Mrs. Whitecastle. He said to listen to you."
"Pretty much the same in this instance, don't you think?"
Lainey tossed the remark off with the shrug of youth before continuing. "As soon as I received my inheritance, I moved out. I wanted to get away from Lin. I just know he's trying to get his hands on my money. He's absolutely transparent about it. That's why he tried to buy off Keith. If I don't marry and something happens to me, my mother will inherit my estate and get the remainder from my father's estate. It's a lot of money---much more than my mother has on her own."
A cold ribbon of horror ran through Emma as she remembered that it had been Lin who'd recommended the horrible facility in Baja. Had Lainey not insisted on finding her own help, she might be imprisoned in a place in Mexico, drugged into unconsciousness while Lin plundered her bank account.
"Why didn't you return to Europe or go somewhere else?"
Lainey sighed. "My mother and I aren't close. You know that. But I felt I should stay nearby in case she needed me."
Emma reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "You always had a good head on your shoulders, Lainey, and a good heart."
"And by staying here, I met Keith. Even if we don't work things out, he's the best thing that's ever happened to me."
Emma let her eyes graze over the grounds of Serenity, looking for any sign of Jamal or anyone else who might be watching them. "Lainey, I think you should come to Julian with me right now, not tomorrow."
"You think I'm in danger here? Even with Jamal around, this place is pretty secure."
"I'd rather be safe than sorry." Emma cut her eyes to Lainey. "Wouldn't you?"
Lainey set her jaw with determination. "Absolutely. I'll go pack."
"Don't let her," said Granny, showing up next to the table. "Snaky's hanging around Lainey's bungalow. I think he's waiting for her."
"No," Emma told Lainey. "I think we should go right this minute."
Lainey studied Emma. "I get the feeling you know something else."
"It's just a gut feeling." Emma patted her midsection. "I think we need to get you out of here as soon as possible. I have clothes at the cabin that will fit you, and we can pick up anything else you need along the way."
After giving the matters three seconds of thought, Lainey started for the front lobby of Serenity. "Let's roll."
"Where are you two off to?" asked Dr. Kitty Garvey when Emma and Lainey crossed through the lobby. The doctor was emerging from a hallway that fed into the large waiting area. With her was the young man Emma had seen playing cards on her last visit. Dr. Kitty gave him some words of assurance and sent him off before walking over to Lainey and Emma with her uneven gait. She stood before them, her hands stuck into the pockets of her white physician's coat, waiting for an answer.
Lainey looked at Emma, waiting to take her cue. Emma wondered if she should tell Dr. Kitty about Jamal. If Linwood Reid had managed to connect with Jamal, he also could've tainted Dr. Kitty. Looking at the doctor, Emma took in the white coat over a flowing and colorful cotton skirt and simple knit top, accessorized with an impressive squash blossom necklace, and decided even if Lin had tried anything with Dr. Kitty, he would have gotten nowhere. Although her look was casual, almost a throwback to the sixties, Dr. Kitty's general air was one of solid competence and professionalism.
"Lainey's coming to Julian to visit me for a couple of days," Emma told the doctor. "You said it would be fine if she wanted to go."
"That I did." The doctor looked over at Lainey, taking in her usual tee shirt and shorts with eagle eyes. "I think it will do you a world of good, Lainey, but won't you need to take something besides the clothing on your back?"
"We were on our way to the front desk to check her out," Emma explained. "Then she'll go get her things."
Observing the nervous behavior of the two women, Dr. Kitty stepped closer, her eyes a warning signal to anyone thinking they were going to BS her. "What's really going on?"
Lainey glanced at Emma, then handed Dr. Kitty the note she still held in her hand. The doctor put on her reading glasses and scanned it several times before motioning for Lainey and Emma to follow her back down the hallway to her private office.
"Jamal knows your stepfather?" she asked Lainey once they were inside and the door shut.
"Apparently so, Dr. Kitty." She looked to Emma for support. "Though it's news to me."
"He was listening in on our conversation," Emma explained. "Then he was overheard speaking with Linwood Reid on the phone. There's no reason for one of your staff to be in touch with Lainey's stepfather."
The doctor gave it some thought. "I quite agree with that, but Jamal has been with us over a year and has never been a problem. On the contrary, he's been an exemplary employee."
"Check the last couple of calls made from his cell phone," Emma persisted. "One of them will be to Linwood Reid."
"People are allowed to know and speak with whomever they choose," Dr. Kitty pointed out. "It's what they say regarding patients that is my concern."
Lainey took a step closer to Dr. Kitty. "Jamal was trying to convince me to leave Serenity and return to my mother's house."
That got the doctor's attention. "Did he say that exactly?"
Lainey shrugged. "He said he doesn't think I need Serenity any longer, but that everyone needs family. He said I was lucky to have one that cared so much for me."
"I see."
The doctor motioned for them to follow her to a side door on the other side of the room. After knocking and receiving no response, she opened the door. It was another office, much like her own except messier. "This is Dr. Mike's office."
They walked through the room toward another door on the outside wall. Next to the door was a large window that looked out onto a small parking area with a tiny carport. There was only one car parked in the stalls.
"This is a private entrance," Dr. Kitty told them as she unlocked the door. "Emma, why don't you go back out the front way. Make sure you say goodbye to whoever is at the desk and that they see you're alone when you leave. Then bring your car to this side area. If Lainey is being watched, I'd rather no one else know just yet that she's left the premises."
twenty-one
Emma climbed into her rental car at the Lehigh Valley International Airport, located midway between Allentown and Bethlehem in Pennsylvania. Her heart beat fast with a mixture of excitement and worry. She'd left Los Angeles at six thirty that morning. After a layover in Atlanta, she landed at Lehigh around five in the evening. According to the GPS in the rental, the town of Jim Thorpe was about a forty-minute drive from the airport.
Lainey hadn't returned to Serenity. She'd been with Emma in Julian since Thursday. When Emma returned to Los Angeles on Sunday to get ready for her trip to Pennsylvania, her parents stayed behind in Julian to keep an eye on Lainey. Everyone, including Dr. Kitty, thought it best if Lainey stayed out of Los Angeles and Serenity for the time being.
Max Naiman was also on board with Lainey's newest, though temporary, arrangements. He had popped in at the cabin to keep an eye on Lainey and had taken up rocking on the porch with Granny and Jacob. As Phil observed while watching the empty rockers moving back and forth, they were going to need more chairs.
In spite of everything, Lainey was thriving in Julian. She was an adept horsewoman and loved taking rides along the trails with Emma and sometimes Susan. She'd met the Millers years before when she was a girl and got along famously with them now. Through the online program Skype, Lainey communicated with Dr. Kitty and spent time catching up with Kelly.
When Summer Perkins died, Emma had called Kelly to let her know what had happened. Kelly had been nearly hysterical. Summer had been one of her friends, and her own mother had not only witnessed her death, but now was saying something about a ghost being responsible. Since then she'd been avoiding her mother's calls, responding to them through email only. Emma had considered simply letting Kelly think, like most everyone, that Summer had killed herself, but she didn't think it right to lie to Kelly, especially since Emma was getting so involved with the matter. Instead, she gave her daughter some space. She communicated with her by voicemail and read the impersonal return emails with patience.
On Saturday, Keith came down to Julian. He and Lainey spent many hours together, and it seemed like they might be able to work things out. Emma was happy for them. Keith seemed like such a nice, level-headed young man. When Lainey explained to him about the ring, he gave it a lot of thought before swallowing the theory, but he seemed relieved to think it might be a ghost trying to kill Lainey and not the idea of marrying him.
Shortly after leaving the airport and getting on the highway, Emma slipped on her phone's earpiece and checked her voicemail. The first call was from Phil. He was checking in from his trip. Contact with him was going to be sketchy over the next few weeks, as there would be days when he would not be accessible by phone. He said he loved her and would call the next chance he got. After a pause, he admonished her to be careful. The next message was from an irate Joanna Reid.
"What have you done with my daughter?" Joanna screamed in a tirade. "I was told she'd left Serenity, but no one knows where she's gone, or they aren't telling me. I know you have her. This is kidnapping, Emma Whitecastle. You have a daughter. Leave mine alone."
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.
"Your 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 place 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."
He took another sip of his coffee. "It was fate, you know."
"Fate?"
"Fate that I be on your show at just that moment when you were searching for something I knew a lot about. So why don't you let me help and save you time?"
It did seem reasonable to Emma. "Okay, then. Tomorrow morning, breakfast, then how about a walking tour of the town before I meet Betty?"
"You'll find my rates very reasonable. Dinner tomorrow night should cover it."
Emma held her hand out across the table to shake on it. "But you must allow me to buy tomorrow night. After all, it is a business expense."
He took her hand, and they did an exaggerated shake on the deal. "Now," Quinn said, taking another drink of his coffee, "you ready to tell me about that dream?"
Emma opened her mouth just as her cell phone gave off a soft, insistent tone. She pulled it out of her purse and looked at the caller ID. "I'm sorry, Quinn, but I have to take this call." She got up from the table and stepped down the hall by the restrooms for privacy. She was only gone a few minutes.
"Sorry," she apologized again when she returned.
"Was that the guy in the photo on your desk?"
Emma felt her face flush and did her best to blame it on the booze in the coffee. "Yes, it was Phil. He's on a camping trip with his sons, so his calling time is rather hit or miss."
"How does this guy, this Phil, feel about your otherworld activities? Or can he see and hear them, too?"
Emma laughed, thinking about the first time Phil found out about her and Granny. "When we first met, he called me everything from a liar to crazy to psychotic. Now he and Granny are great pals."
"Seriously? Even though he can't see or hear her? Or has he developed that skill with time?"
"No, he can't see or hear ghosts. But he's very sensitive to when she's around, and they have worked out their own system of communication."
"What about the rest of your family?"
"My mother can hear Granny, but she cannot see her. I'm not sure if she can hear other spirits. Or if she can, she may be choosing to block them out."
"You and your mother." He took another sip of coffee. "Very interesting. Might be a genetic thing. What about your daughter?"
"I don't think she can see or hear them, and I don't think she wants to. She knows about Granny, and of course she knows about my show and other activities, but she seems a little uncomfortable with them."
"Give her time."
Emma played with her coffee cup, rotating it on its saucer. She wasn't sure she wanted to give Kelly time. She liked Kelly just the way she was. "Honestly, Quinn, I'd be very happy if this talent skipped Kelly altogether. Although it's called a gift, I often think it's more of a curse."
twenty-two
For their second cup, Quinn and Emma skipped the coffee and ordered just the brandy.
"So you go around the world from dig to dig?" she asked once she convinced Quinn she wasn't ready yet to share her dream about the Jim Thorpe jail.
"Pretty much. I'm hired to help a year or two on a dig, and sometimes my contract is extended. It's a great way to see the world and meet fascinating people. I was on the Stonehenge project for the past three years. Sometimes, I give lectures at universities."
"And when you're not traveling the world, where do you call home?"
"That would be Philadelphia. Although, technically, my home is really a leased storage locker. Most of my things are there, but when I'm stateside I live with my mother in Philly."
Emma swirled the amber liquid in her brandy snifter and smiled at the small waves.
"What are you grinning about, you minx? The fact that I live with my mother at my age?"
"No. At least not really." She put down her brandy. "I'm laughing because I live with my parents, too. When I separated from Grant, my daughter and I moved in with them. After the divorce was final, they asked if I would stay. It made sense since they have a huge house in Pasadena and travel a good part of the year. I have a home in Julian, but Pasadena is my main residence."
"I've heard of Julian, but I've never been there. It's north of San Diego, isn't it?"
"Yes, in the mountains. It's a lot like Jim Thorpe in that it's a historic town that the residents are preserving as a tourist destination. But it's Western, with Victorian overtones. It's known for apples."
"And this great-great-great-grandmother of yours was from there?"
"Yes. She and her husband, Jacob, settled there originally to hunt for gold. Phil is also from there. We met when I went to Julian to learn more about Granny."
Quinn studied Emma. "I'd love to see it one day. Would you be my guide if I visited?"
"Of course I would. You should come in the fall, when they have their annual apple festival. Although Julian doesn't boast a haunted prison, we do have a tiny two-room historic jail."
They sat quietly for a few moments, sipping brandy and enjoying the warm comfort that had built up between them during the evening.
"Do you ever think about settling down?" Emma finally asked. "Or are you going to wander the globe forever?" She paused, rethinking her questions. "Which really sounds kind of wonderful."
"Not sure. I did try settling down for a while. My ex lives in Los Angeles---that's who I was going to meet at Craft that night. She's a talent agent in LA. When we met, she was really starting to climb in the business, and I had just received my PhD. When she became pregnant, we decided that I should settle in California since she made the most money. It made sense at the time, but I really hated living in Southern California, and I detested the whole show-biz scene. Finally, we called it quits, and I hit the road. Best thing we ever did. PC grew up with two loving parents who are good friends, instead of two unhappy people who felt trapped. I saw PC as much as possible, and when he was older, he visited me on my digs during school vacations."
"I know what you mean," Emma replied with a nod. "After Grant made it big, everything changed, and not for the best. Because of my show's topic and because it's on cable, it's not quite the Hollywood scene, and I like it that way."
Quinn looked around the restaurant, which was now empty except for them. "And I see the paparazzi don't follow you around anymore."
Emma groaned. "You saw some of that, did you?"
He tried to keep his face straight but couldn't suppress a small chuckle. "Only when I was in the States or London. Celebrity gossip is huge in London. I think the highlight was that brawl you two had in a parking lot."
"It wasn't a parking lot," Emma corrected, "it was my parents' driveway. That was last November, after the divorce was final. Since then, we've kept our distance from each other. The paparazzi scum aren't interested in me, only Grant, and I'm thrilled about that."
"I can only imagine what they'd do and print if they knew about your ghost activities and dreams."
Emma shuddered at the thought. "Some picked up on it, but when interest in me died, so did that. I'm sure the ghosts wouldn't like all the publicity."
Leaving the restaurant when it closed at nine, they strolled down Race Street, then back up Broadway to the inn. It was a chilly night with a cold breeze coming off the river on the other side of the train tracks.
"Yesterday," Emma observed as she zipped up her jacket, "I was wearing shorts and a sleeveless blouse."
"Nights will be cool here for a bit yet. You should be warm enough tomorrow during the day without a jacket if you wear a sweater."
At her door back at the inn, they made arrangements to meet for breakfast. "How about meeting me downstairs around nine or nine thirty in the morning?" Quinn suggested.
"Nine is hardly early enough, is it?"
He fingered the collar on her jacket. "Considering your body is three hours behind, it will think it's six. Not to mention you've had a snootful tonight. So sleep well, and get your rest. You don't know what those nasty ghosts have in store for you tomorrow."
"Sleeping in does sound lovely."
"Give me your phone."
"What?"
"Your phone. Hand it over."
She did as he asked, and he punched in some numbers. "There, now you have my cell number stored in your phone." He handed it back to her. "Now call it."
Emma hit the call button, and his cell phone rang. "There," he said, answering and disconnecting quickly. "And now I have yours. In the morning, when you get up, why don't you give me a call and let me know what time you'll be ready? That way you can sleep as long as you wish."
"You're just going to hang around and wait? Seems silly."
"Not at all. I'll have coffee and read the paper. I brought my laptop with me, so maybe I'll even do some work. So you call and let me know when you want breakfast, or even if you'd rather skip it." He gave her an exaggerated bow. "I'm at your service."
"Quinn?"
He'd started across the hall to his own room but turned around.
Emma fought the urge to kiss him, blaming the booze as the catalyst for her feelings. Instead, she opened the door to her room as she glanced back at him. "I had a really good time tonight. Thank you for the lovely dinner."
He shot her a boyish grin. "You're quite welcome. Most charming business meal I've had in a very long time."
Inside her room, Emma plopped down on the loveseat to consider her actions. She loved Phil. She couldn't entertain kissing Quinn while she and Phil were living together as they were, not even if the arrangement was part-time. She pulled off her boots and went to the whirlpool to start the water running. Alcohol or not, she was still on Pacific time, and her body thought it was seven o'clock. A hot bath on top of the brandy and wine might make up the time difference. While the bath filled, she slipped out of her clothes, neatly hanging them in the closet along with the clothing she'd removed from her suitcase before heading out to dinner.
The ring was still there, hanging from the chain snuggled between her breasts. A couple of times during dinner Emma thought she'd felt the ring heat up, but she could have been mistaken. The heat could have been generated from her own confusion about Quinn. Taking off the ring, Emma tucked it inside its velvet pouch and stored it in her makeup case. She still didn't know if wearing the ring around her neck would inhibit Addy's behavior, but she didn't want to find out. She wanted to sleep in peace tonight.
She was submerged in a hot tub of whirling lavender-scented water when her cell phone rang. She'd left it within reach on the wide ledge surrounding the tub in case Kelly called. The caller wasn't her daughter, but Tracy Bass calling from England.
"I have news," her best friend squealed over the air waves as soon as Emma answered. "Big news!"
Emma sat up in the tub, giving Tracy her full attention. "And that is?"
"We're getting married!"
"You and Milo?"
"No, me and Prince Harry." Tracy's sarcasm was short-lived by her excitement. "Of course me and Milo, silly!"
"I am so happy for you two."
"Wait a minute---you're not as surprised as I had hoped. Did you know about this, Emma Whitecastle?"
"Umm..."
"Don't lie to me, pal. You're not good at it." Before Emma could say anything further, Tracy gushed. "But of course you knew. The ring Milo gave me is gorgeous. Something tells me you had a hand in that." Now that her initial surprise had been sprung, Tracy's voice lowered to a loud whisper.
"I simply gave Milo some guidance, but he chose the ring himself." Emma turned off the whirlpool to hear better but remained in the tub. "Have you set a date yet?"
"No. We'll work on that when we get home. There are logistics to be worked out."
"You mean your family?"
"Yeah. Even though they aren't wild about Milo, they'll want the wedding in Chicago."
"What about Milo's family? He never talks about them to me, so I'm not even sure he has any."
Tracy sighed. "Until recently, he's never mentioned family to me either, so I'm sure there's a juicy story there. But not too long ago he let it slip that his mother lives in Las Vegas. I don't think he sees her very often. Whenever I mention us going to visit, he changes the subject."
"Makes you curious, doesn't it?"
"You got that right." Tracy paused to catch her breath. "I may not be proud of the nuts on my family tree, but I don't hide them."
Emma glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "Hey, isn't it the middle of the night there?"
"Almost three thirty. Milo's conked out cold. I couldn't sleep, but I waited to call in case you were at the office. Must be what, nearly seven thirty?"
"Actually," Emma said, glancing at the clock by the bed, "make that almost ten thirty. I'm not in California. I'm in Pennsylvania, soaking in an in-suite whirlpool in a town called Jim Thorpe. Got here just this evening."
"Huh?"
"Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania. It's a small town near the Poconos that's full of ghosts."
"Ghosts aside, you're there because...?"
"Remember that ring I emailed Milo about last week? Seems it's haunted by a homicidal spirit from Jim Thorpe. I came here to see if I could find out more about her."
"Isn't Phil on that trip with his sons?"
"Yes, he left last night."
"So you're ghost wrangling alone? Not sure I like that, especially since you're in unfamiliar surroundings. Granny can only do so much if you get into trouble."
"I'll be fine. It's a charming town, and I'm not alone. An archeologist I had on my show last week is here with me. Seems he's from Pennsylvania and knows a lot about this place."
"An archeologist? So if danger comes calling, you're going to throw a nerdy dirt digger at it?" Tracy laughed.
"Um, it would be more like Indiana Jones swooping in to rescue me. Granny thinks he's Indiana Jones incarnate."
Tracy was silent a moment while the image sunk into her skull. "Is he as cute as Indiana Jones?"
"Cuter." Emma gave Tracy a rundown of Quinn's bio.
"Does Phil know you've invited this life-size action figure along?"
"I didn't invite him, Tracy." Emma heard the defensiveness in her voice and brought it down a notch. "He helped me figure out where Addy---that's the ghost---was from and followed me here. Seems he's related to the people who own this haunted prison I had a dream about, and he got me in for a private showing."
"Sounds reasonable, but watch your step. Okay?"
Instead of answering, Emma swished a hand back and forth in the water, making little waves in the scented bubbles.
"Okay, out with it, Emma. What else is going on?"
Emma continued making small splashes in the water while she tried to piece together her thoughts and feelings into something that made sense. "Do you think, Tracy, that maybe I should try dating other people?"
Now it was Tracy's turn to be silent. It lasted less time than Emma's. "Do you mean other than Phil Bowers? Or other people as in this archeologist specifically?"
Emma told Tracy about her conversation with Susan Steveson, then added, "Tracy, if not for Phil, I'm sure I would have kissed Quinn tonight. I know I love Phil, but now I'm not so sure I love him enough to make a life with him---not if I'm thinking of playing loosey-goosey with other men. I don't want to be that person."
"Being in love with Phil doesn't mean you're dead to other attractions, Emma. But I certainly understand your concern about Phil being the first and only man you've dated since your divorce." She paused to give it thought. While she did, Emma ran more hot water into the tub.
"Emma, do you really want to date this archeologist, or was it just the heat of the moment?"
"If I wasn't involved with Phil, Quinn would probably be sharing this whirlpool with me right now."
"Okaaaay. But I'm not talking about lust fueled by dinner and drinks. You know you can build a life with Phil Bowers. That relationship could go the distance for sure."
"I agree."
"What about this guy? Is he a sprinter or a marathon runner? More importantly, which do you want for your future? There's nothing wrong with the sprinter, as long as you know that's what he is going into it."
Emma thought about Quinn's vagabond lifestyle. Globetrotting and researching ancient civilizations certainly sounded adventurous and romantic, but how could a long-lasting relationship be built if one party's address is a storage locker?
"What do you want, Emma? Have you ever asked yourself that?"
"I've always wanted a marriage like my parents. No matter what life has thrown at them, they stand united and unbreakable."
"Your parents are the gold standard of marriage, Emma. They set the bar high. Hell, they're my role models."
"I thought I had that with Grant; now I wonder if it's possible to have such a marriage any longer. Maybe it's too old-fashioned for today's lifestyle."
"Love, loyalty, and commitment never go out of style. It just seems more difficult to maintain with all the diversions and romantic mythologies thrown at us by the media." Tracy yawned.
"You need to get to bed, Tracy. So do I. I have my jail tour tomorrow."
"Well, pal, I know you'll do the right thing, but make it easier on yourself and skip the booze and moonlight walks when you're with Dr. Hotsy Totsy. Just think about what you want long-term. And email us tomorrow after you do that research at the jail. I'm sure Milo will want to hear about that."
twenty-three
When Emma came into view of the Old Jail, it was as if someone had punched her in the gut.
"You okay, Emma?" asked a concerned Quinn when she nearly doubled over.
"Yes, I'm fine." She stood upright. "Just a small cramp. Maybe something about breakfast didn't agree with me."
"You had oatmeal and fruit. Sure it's not something else?"
"Seriously, I'm fine." Never taking her eyes off the building, she continued walking toward it as if taking her last steps on earth.
Even though she'd only seen a photo of it until now, she wasn't prepared for the emotional impact of seeing the Old Jail in person. It was an imposing gray stone edifice located on upper Broadway, just a short walk up from the hotel. It commanded a large piece of property like a sullen and brooding bully. To the right of the building was a high chainlink fence surrounding a small prison yard. To the left, a parking lot contained one car. Quinn led the way to a short set of steps to a small door that faced the parking lot. The door was unlatched.
"Betty Lou," he called as he stuck his head inside. "We're here."
"Come on in," called out a female voice. "I'm in the parlor."
Quinn stepped aside to let Emma enter first. Just inside the door to the left was a huge kitchen. Straight ahead was a hallway. To the right was a room that had been converted into a gift shop. Glass display counters were lined up on two sides and bookcases on another. On the walls were various prints and posters, including one for a movie called The Molly Maguires starring Sean Connery. The floor was scarred wood, clean but left rustic.
A petite woman in her late sixties with fluffy silver hair entered from the next room. She was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt that sported a logo for the town. On her hands were pink rubber gloves, one of them holding a worn cloth.
"I'm just doing a little cleaning," she explained as she pulled off the gloves and set them down on one of the nearby counters. She looked at Emma. "We're getting ready to open for the season in a few weeks."
Quinn stepped forward and gave the woman a quick hug and a kiss on her cheek. "Betty Lou, thanks for seeing us. This is Emma Whitecastle."
Emma stepped forward and extended her right hand. Betty Lou took it and smiled. "You're even prettier than on TV."
"You watch my show?" Emma was always amazed at the number of people she met who had seen The Whitecastle Report.
"Not regularly," Betty Lou admitted, "but I've seen it a few times. Ever since we bought this old place, I've been fascinated by ghosts and the paranormal. I was delighted when Quinn here called to say you wanted to see the jail."
"Wait until you catch the segment of her show I'm on," said Quinn. He turned to Emma. "It airs next week, doesn't it?"
"Actually, it's on this coming Wednesday," Emma told them.
Betty Lou motioned toward the room she'd just left. "Come on in here and sit a bit before I give you the tour."
The room just off the gift shop was a lovely Victorian sitting room with a fireplace. "The warden and his family lived here at the jail," Betty Lou explained. "This was their parlor. The gift shop was their dining room."
Emma took a deep breath, half expecting to sense spirits right away, but she felt nothing. She took a seat and looked around.
"Would you like something to drink?" Betty Lou offered. "We have juices and sodas and bottled water."
"No, thank you, Betty Lou," Emma said, turning to the cordial woman. "We just had breakfast."
"Then let's get to it," announced Betty Lou, obviously excited about the topic. "How much do you know about the history of the Molly Maguires?"
"I admit I knew nothing until Quinn told me about them a few days ago, but since then I've done considerable reading on the topic and the town."
"So you know that one of the convicted men cursed this place?"
"You mean the handprint on the wall?"
"Yes. Before he was hanged, he placed his hand on the wall and declared his innocence. The handprint is still there. No matter what anyone does, it remains. It's been scrubbed, painted over, and even the plaster has been redone, yet it keeps coming back. You'll see it today. There is some discussion as to whether it was Alexander Campbell or Thomas Fisher who did it, but most believe it was Campbell."
Quinn stood by the doorway. "Emma had a dream about this place, Betty Lou, even before she knew it existed."
"Really?" An eager closed-mouth smile crossed Betty Lou's face and her eyes lit up. "How fascinating."
"Yes, I was in one of the cells and a group of men came through the walls at me. One of them, the youngest, was wearing a noose around his neck."
"I think in her dream," Quinn added, "Emma was in one of the cells in the basement."
"My, this is exciting," exclaimed Betty Lou. "It will be interesting to see if you pick up on any ghosts today."
"Do your visitors ever see spirits?" asked Emma.
"Oh my, yes, but none that I know of have ever seen actual people like that, just shadows. You know, like someone just flitted by before you can get a good look. I get the sensation I'm not alone or am being watched quite often. Many visitors have felt the presence of ghosts when they've visited."
It was then Emma saw her first ghost in the jail. It wasn't one of the miners she'd seen in her dream; it was Granny. She materialized next to Quinn and was looking him up and down, feasting on his rugged good looks. "I didn't know Indiana was going to be here," the spirit said with a grin.
Emma wanted to fill Granny in but couldn't in front of Quinn and Betty Lou.
"Betty Lou," Emma began, taking her eyes from Granny, "is there a restroom I could use before we start?"
"Of course. Right this way."
With a slight tilt of her head, Emma directed Granny to follow them.
Betty Lou showed Emma out of the parlor and across the hall to another large room with storage cabinets and cupboards. It looked like a roomy kitchen but without appliances. Under a small window to the right, the ghost of a small child, a young girl in an old-fashioned nightgown, sat playing on the floor. She looked up at Emma, her cherub face blooming with giggles like a flowerbed of spring daffodils. Not expecting to see children in a place like this, Emma was startled. She turned her attention to Betty Lou.
"Did a young child ever die within these walls? It would have been many years ago."
Betty Lou looked just as startled by the question. She stared at Emma, her answer slow and stammering. "Yes, I believe so." She took a deep breath. "Yes," she repeated as she searched her memory. "One of the wardens lost a daughter to influenza. I don't think she was more than four or five years old."
Betty Lou stopped and indicated a small door. Emma opened it to find a small, cheery restroom.
"Just come back to the parlor when you're done, Emma, and we'll start the tour." Instead of leaving, Betty Lou stood looking at Emma until Emma entered the bathroom and closed the door behind her.
After shutting the bathroom door, Emma waited until she heard Betty Lou's footsteps walking away before turning to Granny. "Where have you been?" she asked in a barely audible whisper.
The ghost looked around the small room, examining the framed pictures of flowers on the wall. "Oh, here and there. Nothing exciting about you taking a plane trip, so I thought I'd wait until you got here to pop in." Granny jerked a thumb in the direction of the door. "Though I would have been here sooner if I'd known he was tagging along. Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't know myself. He just showed up yesterday. He was waiting for me at the hotel when I arrived."
"Uh-huh." Granny looked at the door, then back at Emma. "I wish Phil were here."
"Why? I thought you liked Quinn."
"I do. He's a tall drink of water in the middle of a scorched desert. But I'd like him a might better if Phil were here."
"Don't be silly. He's just here to help me with this research. He knows a lot about the town."
"I saw the way he was watching you, Emma. If he's researching anything, it's you. He's sweet on you, I tell ya."
Emma flushed the toilet and washed her hands at the sink to make it seem like she'd used the facilities. "Just behave yourself, Granny. Let's not lose sight of why we're here."
"Where's Addy? Did you bring her?"
Emma was wearing a heather gray V-neck sweater over a white tee shirt. Reaching down into her neckline, she pulled out the chain and showed the ring to Granny. "I'm keeping it close but not wearing it. Seems to be working so far."
Emma noticed the ring was warm, and it wasn't from her body heat. Instead of tucking it back into its nest next to her skin, she left it to dangle between her tee shirt and bra.
Just before leaving the bathroom, Emma said, "Granny, I'd like for you to wander around this place and see if any of the resident ghosts know anything about Addy. I haven't seen any adult ghosts yet, but I'm sure they're here."
"Aye, plenty of them in a creepy place like this." Granny shivered.
"But first, could you see why that child's spirit is hanging about? Maybe she needs help reaching the other side."
"I already talked to her. She and I are going for a little walk right after I leave here."
After Granny left, Emma decided she did need to use the bathroom. After a second wash at the sink, she touched the ring under her sweater and took a deep breath. "Okay, Addy, let's find the connection between you and this jail."
Yanking open the bathroom door, Emma came face to face with a ghost. He was tall and slim, with dark hair and a long moustache that drooped down both sides of his mouth like two bushy caterpillars in an embrace. Dark, thick eyebrows hung like awnings over small, intense eyes. It was one of the ghosts she'd seen in her dream. She let out a short, static scream before squelching it.
The ghost stepped closer, almost nose to nose with her. She shivered but didn't move.
"Why are you here?" he asked, his voice neither menacing nor kind.
"You came to me in a dream. You and several other prisoners."
From the corner of her eye, she saw Quinn and Betty Lou watching her from the doorway. Quinn took a cautious step forward, but she held up a hand, signaling him to stay where he was.
The ghost kept his eyes latched on to hers. If Emma wanted to leave the bathroom, she would have to walk through him, and she knew ghosts didn't like that. She'd learned early on that if she wanted answers from spirits, the best way to get them was to be respectful.
She leaned her head closer to the ghost. If he were alive, they would have been touching cheek to cheek. "Who's Addy?"
The ghost disappeared.
Emma slumped back against the doorjamb. Quinn rushed to her side. "Who were you talking to, Emma?"
"Not a six-foot rabbit, that's for sure." She stood straight and shook herself slightly to get her bearings.
"Was it the child you saw earlier?" asked Betty Lou with excitement. "I know you saw her. How else would you have known about her?"
"No, it wasn't the girl, but I don't think she'll be coming back. She needed help getting to the other side. Granny is escorting her."
"Who's Granny?"
Quinn bent down to Betty Lou and whispered, "I'll fill you in later."
"I was just visited by one of the men from my dream." Emma described him.
Without a word, Betty Lou left them, her rubber-soled shoes hitting the floor with steps that sounded like a series of soft thumps and squeaks. She returned a few seconds later with a pamphlet on the Old Jail Museum and the Molly Maguires. She thumbed through it until she came to the page she was seeking. "Was it him?" She offered the booklet to Emma.
The left side of the booklet contained text; the right side, reproductions of drawings. The top drawing was of a man. Emma sucked in her breath and held it.
"It was him, wasn't it?" asked Betty Lou with excitement. "I always felt he was haunting the place."
Emma read the caption out loud: "Alexander Campbell."
Betty Lou tapped the picture. "He's the one most believe left his handprint on the wall."
Emma looked up from the booklet. "May I see the jail now?"
twenty-four
In the middle of the hallway that connected the back door, kitchen, gift shop, and other downstairs rooms was a small anteroom. Betty Lou explained the double entry system to them---how the outside door, with its double sturdy bar locks, was secured after a prisoner entered the small holding room and before the iron gate to the cell block was unlocked for him and the prison guard to enter.
Emma stood at the threshold of the imposing iron gates and looked into the main cell block. The whitewashed walls were thicker than in the rest of the building. Betty Lou further explained how the jail was built in 1871 and had been in continuous use until as late at 1995.
As she stepped from the outer room through the metal gates into the cell block, Emma's body grew heavy, like she'd gained a hundred pounds in an instant. An odor tickled her nostrils. It was an underlying scent as fleeting as the ghosts who inhabited the jail, and not one noticeable to others---a fetid smell of accumulated hopelessness and anger, of defiance and defeat, even of guilt and innocence. Men and women had been rightfully incarcerated here for crimes they had committed, but others had been imprisoned wrongfully, just as some were in modern times.
Emma looked up, taking in the vaulted ceiling and the filigreed iron railing that surrounded the second-floor walkway. It was similar to the iron railings decorating the outside balconies of the inn and seemed too ornate and fine to be in such a place. Even the supports that held the second-floor walkway were decorated with cutout work. Along each wall, cells were lined up, some with iron gates for doors, some with both an iron gate and a thick wooden door. Running the length of the cell block above the doors on each side were large pipes painted black.
"The original cells had both wooden doors and gates," Betty Lou told Emma. "The gates allowed the men in the cells to see into the cell block and to socialize to some degree. The wooden doors were shut at night or when there was an execution, or if the prison needed stiffer security."
Emma took a few steps forward and noted a wide slit cut into the thick wall on the left side. Something sat on the ledge of the slit. Going closer, Emma saw it was a metal tray and a cup.
"That small pass-through goes into the kitchen," Betty Lou explained. "The prisoners would go there to retrieve their food trays, then sit at a table in the center to eat." She indicated the long tables with benches positioned in the middle of the cell block.
Betty Lou pointed upward. "Women prisoners were kept on the second floor."
There were definitely spirits milling about. Emma could feel them in the damp coolness of the air, but they hadn't materialized. Nor did she see Granny. She didn't know if Granny had returned from her errand with the child or not, but felt she hadn't. The spirits in the jail were swirling around her, coming close, then backing away. She didn't sense many of them, just a handful. Emma knew they were watching her and understood she was different, that she would be able to see them if they chose to be seen. Their curiosity was as thick as the walls and mixed with hesitation. Quinn was behind her, and she knew he was watching her with the same look.
Emma took in the walls, the ceiling, the cells lined up like so many hungry mouths. She ran a hand along the rough texture of the wall. She'd never had such an intense experience with spirits like this before. It was nearly intimate, as if she were seeing into the soul of the structure that housed them. She wondered if it was because of Addy or because of the seriousness of the place. The one spot she couldn't bring herself to focus on was the far end of the cell block. She didn't want to look, afraid of what she might see, but knew she couldn't put it off.
Shutting her eyes, she turned her head toward the end of the cell block where the wooden gallows stood like a fearsome master. She opened her eyes quickly, ready to take in whatever was there, unpleasant or not.
"Are those the original gallows?" she asked, relieved to see that the side-by-side nooses of yellow rope were empty.
Betty Lou walked forward, leading them farther into the cell block and closer to the gallows. "No, but it is a replica of the original gallows. It was built using the same plans. Over here," she said, leading them to one of the cells, "is cell 17, the one with the handprint."
The iron gate on this cell was closed, and there was a sign posted saying photographs of the handprint were not permitted. Emma peered into the cell through the open squares of the gate and wasn't surprised to see the ghost of Alexander Campbell sitting on the small bed that was its only furnishing. On the wall across from the bed was indeed the image of a handprint. It wasn't sharply defined but was clear enough that the viewer knew immediately what it was. Campbell said nothing but looked at Emma with his head held high and straight. She gave him a courtesy nod and moved on.
All the cells were depressing and dark. Some had beds in them, some chairs and beds, some were empty. There was one horizontal, narrow window set high near the ceiling. Some had toilets. She stepped inside one of the cells but felt nothing except the closeness of the walls. She entered several, one after the other, but none was the cell Emma visited in her dream.
Something touched her elbow as she stood in the middle of the last cell. Emma jumped slightly and turned to see Quinn at her side.
"You okay?" he asked.
An odd bit of humor struck her as Emma realized Quinn had asked her that several times since they'd met.
"Yes, I'm fine. Just taking it all in."
"Any ghosts yet, besides Campbell?"
"No, at least not that I can see, but there are several here right now. Not sure who they are, though." Emma pointed to cell 17. "Campbell was just there, sitting on the bed. I'm pretty sure that handprint is his."
Betty Lou's eyes went wide. "I just got goose bumps." She rubbed her arms. "Would you like to see downstairs? That's where the dungeon cells are."
Emma gave her a silent nod, and the three of them headed through a door to the right of the gallows and down a narrow stairwell. As they followed Betty Lou down the stairs, Quinn put a hand on Emma's shoulder. She stopped and turned to him.
"What did you say to Campbell in the other room? You know, just outside the bathroom?"
Emma weighed what to say, then answered in a soft but direct manner, "I asked him who Addy was. He disappeared without answering. Either he doesn't know or doesn't want to say." Emma gave Quinn a faint smile and continued down the stairs. Surprised by her words, Quinn stared after her, watching her from behind, too surprised for a moment to follow.
If the main cell block was depressing, the basement of the jail, which housed the solitary confinement cells, was triple that in its sense of dark foreboding. It was much colder in the basement, but Emma couldn't tell if it was because of being downstairs with little to no natural light or from the presence of spirits.
"Horrible place, isn't it?" asked a familiar voice.
Emma gave the ghost a small smile of relief. "I'm so glad you're here, Granny." She spoke to Granny in a soft voice respectful of the gravity of their surroundings but not in a whisper. She didn't care that Quinn and Betty Lou were privy to the conversation. She was on the brink of learning something important. She could feel it in the cold weight that continued to invade her body. Once more she touched the ring hidden beneath her sweater, pressing it to her as if it were a talisman of protection.
"Anything about Addy yet?" Granny asked.
"No. Have you learned anything?"
Granny shook her hazy head. "This place is crawling with unhappy ghosts, but no one's talking. Want me to get tough with them?" She slapped her right fist into her left hand. There was no sound from the impact.
In spite of their dismal surroundings, the idea of diminutive Granny getting tough with the spirits of prisoners amused Emma. She smiled and shook her head at the spunky spirit. "That won't be necessary."
"Who's she talking---" Betty Lou started to say, but Quinn gently shushed her without taking his eyes off of Emma.
Once Granny left, Emma started inspecting the dungeon area while Betty Lou and Quinn watched wide-eyed with expectation. They kept a few feet away from her, giving her space without interruption.
Without the vaulted ceiling of the main cell block, the basement space felt tight, like the walls and ceiling were closing in on her slowly, compacting in from the top, bottom, and sides, like she was a piece of garbage being manipulated into a small, convenient package. The walls were rougher than those on the floor above, with old paint and plaster peeling away like skin from an orange. Dampness and mildew permeated the air like a stale cologne.
She approached the first cell. The door was thicker and heavier than those above. There was no iron door with crisscross bars to allow conversation or the prisoner to look out. The door was solid, with only a tiny opening through which communication with the prisoner could be conducted. Inside, the walls were rough-hewed, as if scraped out of the concrete with a large spoon. The ceiling was arched. Set high at the end of the cell was a window much tinier than the ones in the cells above. Betty Lou and her husband had brought in lamps to provide low-level yellow light so visitors could see inside them.
Emma shivered as she stepped a foot into the first one. She turned, slowly rotating to get a sense of the place and the people who had inhabited it during the history of the jail. She still could feel spirits around her but couldn't see them.
She left the first cell and entered the second, which was much the same except for one thing. In the second cell she could have sworn she could make out the face of a man on one wall. It wasn't an imprint, as with the hand in cell 17, but a three-dimensional outline, as if the man was trying to come through the wall but changed his mind, leaving a relief of his face protruding through the plaster.
"Don't be afraid," she said to the image. "I'm here to ask a few questions, not to bother you." The imaged faded, the wall returning to its rough flatness. Quickly Emma left the cell and went to the next one---the cell on the other side of the wall where she had seen the facial imprint.
As she crossed the threshold to the third cell, her heart began beating faster. The light in this cell came from a bare low-watt bulb at the end of a thin upright lamp pole. The small window was covered over except for a small opening the size of a deck of cards through which the sun shone like a laser pointer. The cell was the same size as the other two dungeon cells she'd seen, but it felt smaller and more cramped. The air inside this cell was different. It moved, in spite of no visible means to do so, and it was cold.
Again she did her slow pivot, taking in the details of the cell and letting the spirits present see that she came in peace. As she turned, she spied a dirty toilet built into the front right corner. It was nothing more than a toilet seat fastened to a box. The wall to the right of the toilet was the wall shared with the cell she'd just left. She stopped turning as her eyes confirmed what her heart already told her. Attached to the center of the wall were heavy chains with manacles at the end. This was the cell in her dream.
Through her sweater, she placed two fingers on the ring. "Who's Addy?" she asked the seemingly empty room.
Quinn stepped forward but didn't come close. His face was dark with concern. "Emma, do you mean Addy Ames?"
Without turning toward Quinn, Emma said, "I don't know her last name." The spirits around began manifesting themselves. "But they know her."
The first to show himself was Alexander Campbell. After him, two more appeared. Like Campbell, they appeared to be in their forties, and both had thick black beards. Emma remembered them from her dream. She remained still as they circled around her and came to rest. Keeping her right arm close to her side, she showed her palm to Quinn, signaling for him to remain where he was.
"Has Addy come home?" Campbell asked.
"Yes, Mr. Campbell, Addy's here."
"Edward will be pleased."
At Edward's name, the stone around Emma's neck turned warm. Emma touched it again, trying to assure Addy all was well.
Another ghost walked through the wall into the cell. It was the youngest of those she'd seen before, the fair-haired young man with the noose around his neck, but this time he didn't wear the hangman's rope.
As in her dream, he held out his hand for Emma to take. "Addy," he beckoned.
Emma extended her right hand toward him. "I'm here, Edward." As her hand touched that of the ghost, a shock of deep sadness and tragedy ran through her, nearly stopping her racing heart with the weight of its darkness.
"I'm back, Edward," Emma said to the spirit, her hand still touching his.
The other ghosts looked on, their faces not as stern as they had been. Quinn and Betty Lou watched transfixed, cemented to their places by the door.
Edward started to retreat back into the wall, taking Emma with him, but as her solid outstretched hand struck the stone, she stopped and dropped her hand. Tears ran down her cheeks. "I can't, Edward. It's not over. Not yet."
The ghost of the young miner came back through the wall and extended his hand again. Once more Emma took it, but this time she didn't try to follow. "I'll be back, Edward. I promise."
Emma dropped her hand and turned to look at Quinn. Her eyes were unfocused, nearly rolled back into her head, and her face was flushed. He jumped forward and grabbed her shoulders, gently shaking her. "Emma, come back to us."
twenty-five
"Emma, snap out of it," yelled Granny, popping in by her side. The ghost looked around the cell, taking stock of the other ghosts standing around watching. "Make Addy stop," she snapped at them. When the ghosts of the Molly Maguires did nothing but look on, Granny scowled, "Men! Worthless in life and in death."
Granny started blowing into Emma's face while she snarled at the ghost in the ring. "Let her go, Addy. Emma never harmed you. She's the only real friend you have on this earth."
"I'll call an ambulance," Betty Lou said in a worried voice and disappeared.
Emma started coming out of her fog. "No." She pushed away from Quinn. "Tell Betty Lou no ambulance. I'm fine." She turned to Granny, letting the worried ghost see she was back to herself.
Seeing Emma had returned to her senses, Quinn ran out. Emma could hear him calling out that she wouldn't need medical care. He asked Betty Lou to bring down some water instead.
When he returned to the cell a second later, Emma was staring at the wall where she'd seen Edward. Quinn watched in silence, never out of reach should she need him. Granny stood by the far wall, keeping an eye on Alexander Campbell and his men.
Emma stretched out her hand again toward the wall. Edward's ghost reached to take it. This time it was Emma speaking, not Addy through her. "Come on, Addy," Emma said, coaxing the ghost in the diamond. "Here's your chance to be free. Take Edward's hand."
"No!" Addy shouted in defiance. "It's not time."
Without warning, Emma cried out in pain and looked down. The front of her sweater, the spot over Lainey's ring, was scorched, the heat burning into her flesh.
She started pulling on the chain around her neck. "The ring," she yelled to Quinn. "Help me get it out."
Granny danced from foot to foot. "Help her," she shouted at Quinn, even though he couldn't hear her.
Quinn jumped to Emma's aid again. Staring down at her chest, he first thought it was blood, then watched as the burned area grew like a match had been held under the fabric. As Emma pulled on the chain, trying to free it, Quinn grabbed the hem of her sweater and yanked it over her head, getting the chain and ring caught.
"Wait a minute," Emma told Quinn as she became tangled in her garment. When he stopped pulling, Emma freed one arm. Moving the chain to the hand of the free arm, she kept it away from her skin while she cleared her other arm. The chain was also warm but not hot. Her sweater was ruined. So was the tee shirt under it and the bra. The small patch of skin between her breasts was stinging, but luckily the layers of fabric had kept it from being seriously injured.
She pulled the chain over her head and held it aloft, glaring at the ring. "There was no need to do that, Addy."
A fuzzy stream of light oozed from the ring, and soon Addy materialized in front of Emma. Her face was smooth and peaceful as she looked at Edward with a loving smile. "I will be back, Edward. I promise."
He held out his hand again, his young face eager and pleading. "Come with me now, Addy. We've waited so long."
Addy took his hand but didn't move to go with him. "I've hurt a lot of people," she confessed. She turned to look at the other ghosts. "Innocent people. But now I have the chance to help one of them."
"No one helped us, Addy," Campbell reminded her. "Not you, not Edward, not me or the others. Go with Edward now, and be free of the bonds of the living."
Quinn, still clutching Emma's sweater, sensed the drama he couldn't hear. He took a few steps back, hoping to see even a glimmer of the spirits. "What's going on, Emma?"
"The ghosts are having a discussion," Emma explained. "They want Addy to go with Edward. She wants to stay to finish something."
"Is it the ghost of Edward Kelly you're talking about?" The question came from Betty Lou. She had returned unnoticed. She stood at the doorway to the cell holding a bottle of water. Her face was twisted in concentration in the hope of seeing and hearing the spirits she knew existed. "He spent a lot of time in this cell before he was hanged."
Emma turned to the young man. "Are you the ghost of Edward Kelly?"
He nodded. "Aye, I am. And standing yon with Mr. Campbell are Tom Fisher and Yellow Jack."
Emma turned to the three ghosts standing near Granny and gave them a polite nod before advising Betty Lou and Quinn of what Edward had said.
Betty Lou bobbled a bit. Quinn stepped to her side, but she waved him off and leaned against the thick doorway for support. "I always knew some of the Molly Maguires were still here."
Quinn turned back to Emma. "Edward Kelly and Addy Ames were sweethearts."
Emma had surmised as much from the way the two young ghosts behaved with each other. "But who did you marry, Addy? Who beat you?"
"That would have been Ronald Dowd," Quinn answered for the ghost.
Addy shuddered at the name and became agitated. She dropped Edward's hand and floated to stand in front of Emma. "The girl is still in mortal danger."
"What girl?"
Addy pointed at the ring dangling at the end of the gold chain.
"You mean Lainey?" asked Emma.
Addy nodded. "Yes."
Protective anger bubbled to the top of Emma's emotions. "Leave Lainey alone."
"The danger is not from me." Addy started to fade.
"Stay, Addy," Emma pleaded. "Tell me what's going on."
Turning around, Emma saw Alexander Campbell was also starting to fade. His friends were already gone. Campbell floated over to Betty Lou. "Thank you, dear lady, for keeping our memory alive." He glanced at Emma. "Please tell Mrs. McBride what I said."
Emma shook her head to clear it. She didn't want to play interpreter just now. Addy had just announced Lainey's life was still in danger. That's all Emma wanted to deal with, but the stern look on Campbell's face made her take a deep breath and stop a moment.
"Betty Lou," she said to the museum owner in a rush of words, "Mr. Campbell wants me to thank you for the museum and for keeping the memory of him and the men who died with him alive."
The ghost of Alexander Campbell bowed slightly before Betty Lou McBride and took his leave.
"Oh my!" said Betty Lou. She opened the water and took a big drink of it.
With urgency, Emma turned her attention back to Addy. She and Edward were standing face to face. "Come back to me when you can, Addy," Edward said. "I'll be here." Then he disappeared into the wall.
Addy returned to stand before Emma, her image fading more by the second. She pointed at Quinn. "He can help you." Then she vanished into a stream of smoke that was sucked into the stone of Lainey's ring.
Granny floated over and stared at the ring. "In all my days, I've never seen anything like that. Gives me the willies." The ghost rubbed her arms against a chill she couldn't feel.
Quinn was just as amazed. "Did I just see smoke going into that ring or out of it?"
Emma looked down at the ring. "You saw that?"
He nodded, not taking his eyes off the large diamond. "I did."
"The smoke was going into the ring, Quinn. It was the ghost of Addy Ames returning to her haunting place. She won't go off with Edward until Lainey's safe. Lainey is the young woman who owns this ring. Addy tried to kill her before."
"And now she's worried about her safety?"
"Seems so."
Quinn started to touch the ring, then stopped and looked up at Emma, his eyes brimming with excitement. "May I?"
Emma handed him the ring. He rolled it in his fingers, feeling the cut of the facets as he searched for the life within it. He looked up at Emma. "Is this the Dowd diamond?"
Betty Lou shook off the excitement of having a ghost address her and stepped forward. "The Dowd diamond? You mean it's real?"
Emma took the ring back from Quinn. Putting the chain over her head, she tucked the ring back inside her burned tee shirt.
"You sure that's wise?" Quinn asked, holding up her scorched sweater as an exhibit to back his concern.
"I don't think she's going to try to hurt me again." Emma held out her hand for the sweater. "It's cold in here." Quinn handed it back to her.
"It was a lot colder a minute ago," Betty Lou observed. "When the ghosts were here it was absolutely freezing in this cell, like a deep freeze. You didn't feel that?"
Emma shook her head. "Usually I do, but not this time."
Quinn cocked his head and gave Emma a lopsided grin. "Then again, your clothes were on fire."
Emma pulled at the front of her sweater. There was a blackened hole between her breasts, but for now it would have to do. Anxious to reach Lainey, she reached into her jeans pocket for her cell phone.
"Darn it. My cell's back at the hotel, recharging. I forgot to take it with me this morning." She started for the door. "We have to go back to the hotel. I have to call Lainey to make sure she's okay."
Quinn pulled his phone from his pocket and held it out to her. "Here, use mine."
"Cell phones don't work down here," Betty Lou told them. "They don't work well anywhere inside the jail, and not at all down here."
After the three of them were back upstairs, Emma thanked Betty Lou for showing her around. "It's been a great deal of help."
"No, Emma, thank you. I can't tell you what today has meant to me." Betty Lou gave Emma a quick hug. "Now go help that Lainey girl so Addy can come back." She turned to Quinn and gave him an affectionate embrace. "You know the history of this place and of the Dowds better than I do. You help Emma."
Outside the jail, Emma called the phone at her cabin in Julian. Her mother answered. "Mother, it's me. Is Lainey all right?"
"Yes, dear, she's fine. Why?"
"Addy just told me that Lainey's still in danger. She didn't say how or why, but the danger isn't coming from Addy any longer. Maybe it's Lin. I'm not sure how Addy knows that unless she overheard it, but I don't want to take any chances."
"She's over at Susan's right now. I'll go right on over, and we'll not let the child out of our sight."
"Thank you. Where's Dad?"
"He and Glen went into town to get something---a tool Glen needs, I think. Did Addy go home?"
"Yes and no. She's home, but she won't leave the ring. I don't know the whole story yet, but I should soon." She looked at Quinn, who was waiting patiently by her side. As soon as she was off the phone, she was going to wring every scrap of information out of him she could, starting with how he knew Addy's name and the story behind the Dowd diamond.
As soon as she said goodbye to her mother, Emma stared expectantly at Quinn. "So, what's the story with Addy Ames, Edward Kelly, and Ronald Dowd? And don't spare any details."
Quinn started down Broadway. "Come on," he said. "I want to show you something, but first we need to go back to the hotel. We can trade information along the way."
Emma looked down at her ruined sweater. She wanted to change it but was antsy to learn more. "I'm okay wearing this for now. Let's just go."
He turned. "I'm not worried about your sweater, I'm worried about the burn under it. We need to get you some first aid before we go traipsing off. Burns can be nasty business and get infected easily."
"Oh, and my cell phone," Emma remembered. "I do need that. If anything happens, my mother will call that number, not yours."
twenty-six
A knock sounded at Emma's hotel door. She opened it to find Quinn holding a small paper bag aloft in one hand and two plastic bags in the other. "I have antiseptic ointment and bandages."
"What's that?" She pointed at the plastic bags. "Kind of big for a small burn, or are you planning surgery?"
He came in and put all the bags on the table. From one plastic bag he pulled out four bottles of Snapple. "I picked up some sandwiches for lunch and a few bottles of tea." He put the bag with the sandwiches in the mini fridge, along with two bottles of the tea. He twisted the top off one of the bottles left on the table and handed it Emma. "Hope you like green tea."
After she took the bottle of tea, he asked, "Now, how's that burn?"
"It's blistered a bit, but it's not bad. My clothing took the brunt of the heat. I cleaned the site off with soap and water and dried it with a clean towel." Emma had stripped to her waist and was wearing a short cotton robe over the top of her jeans. She took a drink from her bottle. It was refreshing and welcomed by her dry throat.
Quinn twisted the top off his own bottle of tea and took a long drink. "Let me have a look at it."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I am a doctor, Emma."
She laughed lightly. "Somehow, Quinn, I don't think a PhD qualifies you to give medical advice."
"No, but I've learned a lot about field medicine on digs, especially the simple things like cuts, burns, and sprains. I can even reset a dislocated shoulder or temporarily set a broken bone. You have to know that stuff when you're working in remote places."
She considered him a moment, then put down her tea and opened her robe, revealing the burn but keeping the breasts on either side of it covered. "It's nearly dead-center."
Putting down his tea, he washed his hands, then pulled Emma closer to a light to examine the wound. Emma flinched slightly when he touched her.
Quinn looked up. "I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"
Emma shook her head and looked away. His touch didn't hurt her, it disturbed her. While Quinn grabbed the medical supplies and started tearing into the packaging, Emma studied the grain on the door to her room, trying to concentrate on anything except the fact that Quinn Keenan was touching her chest. It didn't matter that he was applying first aid; his close proximity in such an intimate manner sent shimmers of arousal through her. And she wasn't the only one sensing it. As Quinn applied ointment to Emma's wound, then covered it with a gauze bandage, folding it small enough to fit between her breasts comfortably and still cover the burn, his fingers took on a slight tremor of awkwardness. Next he applied strips of surgical tape. Emma was glad he was doing it. She could have done it on her own, but it would have been difficult to do it right. She was also having a love-hate relationship with the way it was making her feel.
"That's going to hurt for a few days," he told her when he was done. He fiddled with putting the cap on the ointment, studying it as if it were a difficult puzzle. Neither of them looked at each other, trying to ignore the charge in the air. "It shouldn't become infected if you keep it clean and bandaged. If you need me to help change the bandage, just let me know. I'll be happy to help."
"I just bet he would," snapped a disembodied voice.
Ignoring Granny's comment and presence, Emma closed her robe and tightened the belt. "Thank you, Dr. Keenan."
"My pleasure." He put away the supplies and washed his hands again. "You're a lot cuter than the guys I'm used to patching up."
"No women on those digs?"
"Them, too." He picked up his tea, still not looking at her. "Where's the Dowd diamond?"
"Here." Emma went to the nightstand by the bed and retrieved the ring. She handed it to him. "I didn't know it had a name until today."
"If it's the same stone."
"That's not the original setting. The jeweler I spoke with said the original setting was Victorian. His friend bought it from someone here in Pennsylvania in the early sixties. Every wearer has died of suicide since, except for my daughter's friend Lainey."
Emma took her bottle of tea to the loveseat and sat down. Quinn joined her.
Granny materialized next to the window, her arms crossed and wearing her signature scowl. "Does he have to sit so close to you?"
Emma shot Granny a scowl of her own but was thankful the ghost was chaperoning.
On the walk back to the inn from the jail, she'd given Quinn a quick rundown of how she had become involved, of Lainey's suicide attempts, and even of Summer's death. He'd stopped their progress several times to question her and listen with interest before continuing.
"Oh, I just thought of something." Emma popped off the loveseat and retrieved her cell phone from its charger. She also grabbed her purse and dug around inside until she located the business card for Sachman & Sons. She started punching in the numbers.
"Who are you calling?"
"The jeweler who gave me the history of that ring."
When someone answered, Emma asked to speak to Isaac Sachman and gave her name. After a short wait, Mr. Sachman came on the phone.
"I see you got my message," the old man said immediately.
Emma was surprised. "Your message? No, I didn't." She looked down at her cell to see she had two voicemails waiting. "I'm sorry, Mr. Sachman. I went out and left my phone behind. I was actually calling you for something else."
"If it is about the ring, then it is the same topic."
Emma put the phone on speaker. "I'm here with a friend of mine, Dr. Quinn Keenan. We're in Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania, where Addy was from. I just found out the stone has a name---the Dowd diamond. Did you know that?"
Isaac Sachman gave off a low, gravelly chuckle. "I just found out the exact same thing, my dear. That is why I called. Seems the fates are determined we get to the bottom of this mystery."
Mr. Sachman cleared his throat. There was a short quiet period.
"Are you all right, Mr. Sachman?" Emma asked.
"I'm fine, Emma. I just needed a sip of water." There was another short pause before he continued. "After we spoke, the matter of this ring continued to bother me, so I called the widow of my friend Jonas, the jeweler who purchased the original ring in Pennsylvania. She told me all of Jonas's records were still stored in their garage, so I sent one of my sons over to look through them, specifically to locate sales and purchases made from the late fifties through the sixties. As I recall, Jonas was a meticulous record keeper. My son found the information and brought it back to me to look over."
"So you can confirm that the stone I showed you is, in fact, the Dowd diamond?"
"Absolutely. I also found something even more curious."
Quinn and Emma leaned toward the phone, eager to hear the news and thankful to have a diversion from their mutual attraction. Granny floated close by, her own ears keen for news.
"It seems I know the man who sold it to Jonas back in the early sixties," Isaac Sachman continued. "His name is Linwood Reid, the controversial financier."
"Linwood Reid?" Even saying it out loud, Emma couldn't believe it. She glanced up at Granny, who looked just as surprised. "Are you sure, Mr. Sachman?"
"According to Jonas's records, he bought the ring from Mr. Reid in the mid-sixties. Which is very odd, because I distinctly remember him being with Mrs. Naiman when she bought the ring from me for her husband. I'm sure he never mentioned a previous connection to it at that time."
"Did you know him before then?"
"Mr. Reid was an occasional customer who recommended our store to Mrs. Naiman and particularly that ring. I assisted them myself and remember him saying he'd seen it in the store and knew it would be perfect for Max. Of course it could be a different Linwood Reid, but it is such an uncommon name, is it not?"
"Yes, it is," Emma agreed. She handed Quinn the phone and began pacing the room as her mind spun like a Tilt-A-Whirl with surprise and possibilities.
Granny paced alongside her. "That's the skunk who hired Jamal."
"Linwood," Quinn said, holding the phone but staring at the wall as he dug through the knowledge stored in his brain. "Linwood," he repeated. "Linwood was a family name of the Dowd family, the family who originally owned that stone."
Emma whipped around. "Are you sure, Quinn?"
"Positive. Linwood Dowd was Ronald Dowd's father---Addy's father-in-law. According to local stories, he purchased the diamond in Europe for his bride, Ronald's mother. Ronald also had a brother named Linwood."
"But how is it," Emma asked, "that Linwood Reid knew where that ring was so many years after he sold it?"
The aged jeweler provided an explanation. "He could have contacted Jonas and inquired about it. Sometimes when people are forced to sell off family heirlooms, they keep track of them in the hope of one day buying them back. Few do, of course."
Emma ran a hand through her hair. "I wonder if he knew the ring was haunted?"
"That ring being cursed is a longtime legend around these parts," added Quinn.
Emma stared at him. "You mean people have known for years the ring was haunted?"
"Maybe not haunted, but for generations locals passed along stories about the ring being cursed, though most thought it was just a story, and today most believe the existence of the ring itself was fabricated to account for all the tragedy surrounding the Dowd family."
Emma picked up the ring and examined it. It remained cool to the touch. "Makes you wonder if Addy was a victim of that tragedy or the cause."
Sachman's voice came through the cell phone like that of an unseen spirit. "I hope my information was helpful, Emma."
Coming closer to the cell phone, she said, "Very helpful, Mr. Sachman. Thank you."
After the call with Isaac Sachman ended, Emma turned to Quinn armed with new questions. "Do you think Linwood Reid knew the ring was haunted and used it to murder Max Naiman? Lainey did tell me he was seeing her mother prior to her parents rededicating themselves."
Emma blew out a gust of air and continued before Quinn could make a comment. "Now I'm wondering if Joanna knew about the ring, but my gut is saying she didn't. She is nervous about Linwood, though; something is not right there."
Granny had her own theory. "Maybe the skunk also used the ring to try to kill off Lainey. He's after her money, isn't he?"
"That's right, Granny."
Quinn looked to the spot where Emma directed her comment, but saw nothing. "Is your rabbit back?" He flashed Emma a grin.
Granny hovered around Quinn, her hands on her hips, her face pinched with disapproval. "I ain't no darn rabbit, Indiana."
"Yes, Granny is back, and she'd prefer you not to call her a rabbit. Not even a famous one." Emma perched on the arm of the loveseat. "But she just pointed out another possibility. Maybe Linwood also used the ring to try to kill Lainey. He definitely wants her out of the way, and he's been trying to get his hands on her inheritance."
"Murder by haunted ring." Quinn rolled the concept around on his tongue. "If so, it's a brilliant crime. Think about it. How are the police supposed to make a charge like that stick? Then again, according to the stuff I've read about Linwood Reid, he's a genuine piece of work."
Emma tightened her grip on the ring, willing Addy to tell them more. "Quinn, did you know Linwood Reid was connected to the Dowd family?"
"Not exactly, though I did know he hailed from Pennsylvania." He stood up and stretched. "To be honest, my curiosity in the family didn't extend beyond the burning of the Dowd mansion. After that, I believe they left Mauch Chunk for good."
"When I read up on this town," Emma said, trying to sweep away her confusion, "I read about the two Packer mansions, but I don't recall anything about a Dowd mansion."
"It burned to the ground in the early 1900s. The fire was supposedly set by Ronald's third wife, Virginia Dowd."
"Tell me about the Dowds, Quinn. What do you know about the connection between them, Addy, and Edward Kelly?"
Quinn went to the window and looked out. He was silent a few moments.
"Is he thinking or sleeping?" Granny asked.
Emma shot her a look letting her know to be still.
"After the jail, I wanted to show you something." He turned around and leaned against the windowsill. "I still do. It's the perfect place to tell you Addy's story, or at least what I know of it." He shoved off and headed for the door. "Get dressed. I'll be back in a minute. We'll take the sandwiches and make a picnic of it."
twenty-seven
From the hotel, they walked straight up Broadway, past the Old Jail Museum, and kept going. Quinn set a brisk pace, and after the day they'd had already, it felt good to Emma to do something physical. The mid-afternoon air was brisk and fresh and filled with the potential of cooler temperatures come sundown. When he'd returned to her room, Quinn had a small backpack. He filled it with the sandwiches and drinks from her mini fridge and a makeshift ice pack.
They moved along side by side without speaking, staying on Broadway, following its lazy curve and incline. There were fewer buildings and businesses up at this end. Quinn made a right turn onto a small side street, then disappeared into the brush on the left. Emma followed him, discovering a footpath just beyond the spring growth of bushes. They continued on the path, which climbed through a small wooded area until it broke in a clearing at the top of a small hill.
"It's beautiful up here." Exhilarated by the hike, Emma spun around, taking in the natural beauty. "Absolutely gorgeous."
Quinn dropped his backpack down on one of three well-worn picnic tables in the clearing. "Yeah, it's not that high, but it does give a great view of the town and the area around it." He pointed toward an old road on the other side of the clearing. "That's an old carriage road. We could have driven here, but I thought the exercise would do us good. You know, clear our minds."
"I totally agree." Emma stood at the edge of the clearing watching the small town of Jim Thorpe.
Quinn came to stand next to her. "How's Addy doing?"
Emma touched the small velvet pouch stuffed into the right pocket of her jeans. "So far, no bonfires. Why?"
"This was where the Dowd mansion stood. This is where Addy Ames Dowd died."
Emma sucked in her breath and held it. Wrapping her fingers around the pouch, she felt for irritation from the ring, but there was none.
Quinn gently took Emma's arm and guided her to the table with the backpack. "Come sit down and have a bite. It's been a long time since breakfast, and I have a story to tell."
He laid out three sandwiches and the two unopened bottles of tea. The sandwiches were stumpy oblongs wrapped in white paper and secured with tape. One was marked with an e, one with a t, and the last with a v. They looked like three oversized capsules of medication. "I wasn't sure, but I got the feeling you didn't eat red meat, so I picked up the only three sandwiches the place offered that didn't have it." Quinn touched the first wrapped sandwich, the one with the e scrawled on the wrapper. "We have egg salad." He touched the next. "Tuna. And the last is grilled vegetables and Swiss." He smiled at her. "What's your pleasure, milady?"
"I'm fine with any of them, though I feel bad you didn't get one with meat for yourself." She untied her light jacket from around her waist and laid it on the bench next to her.
"I don't eat much red meat. For a while I went totally vegetarian, but it's difficult to do when you spend so much time in other countries." He lifted his long legs and stepped over the bench to take a seat across from Emma. "When the leader of a tribe butchers his prize goat in your honor, it's difficult to explain you don't eat anything with a face. Now I just eat it in moderation."
Emma laughed. "Tell you what, how about I take the egg and you the tuna. We'll split the third sandwich. That way we'll both get our veggies."
"Spoken like a true mom." He handed her the egg salad sandwich and half of the vegetable one, then dug around in the plastic bag they'd been wrapped in, producing two bags of chips and a handful of thin paper napkins. "Look, we even have napkins, thanks to the girl at the counter. How civilized."
Emma twisted the cap off of a bottle of tea and took a drink while soaking in the atmosphere. A mansion on top of this small hill would have been fantastic. Even a small house in the location would have been lovely.
"How come no one has rebuilt up here?"
"The Dowd family left it to the town to be used as a park, but I don't think they left money for its maintenance. There was some talk awhile back about a developer buying it from the city and building condos up here. I think the economy tanked those plans. In the summer, folks will walk up here to picnic or relax, but most don't even remember this spot's here. And some believe it's cursed." He took a bite of his tuna sandwich and chewed, following it up with a couple of chips. "Tell me, Emma. You're the expert here. Do you think it's haunted or cursed?"
Emma took a bite of her own sandwich. She chewed slowly, taking the time to get an overall sense of the place. "I don't see any ghosts, but I can feel something. Something very amiss." Emma stopped eating and closed her eyes to concentrate. After a moment, she looked at Quinn. "Might not be spirits at all, but I'm definitely picking up something. This place is very unsettling." She took another bite of her lunch. "Did anyone besides Addy die up here?"
Instead of answering right away, Quinn tipped back a bottle of tea for a quick swig. Another two bites and he was through his tuna sandwich. He wiped his hands on one of the napkins.
"Three people have died here that I know of: Addy, of course; Virginia Dowd; and Ronald himself. Virginia died in the fire after killing Ronald with an ax."
The news startled Emma. "Didn't you say earlier that Virginia was suspected of starting the fire?"
Quinn nodded while his eyes grazed on the peaceful view of the town below. "She torched it by setting fire to herself using kerosene."
Upon hearing the next installment of Dowd family history, Emma started choking on her sandwich. Grabbing her tea, she took a drink.
"You okay?" asked Quinn, already on his feet to assist her.
She gave him a thumbs-up while she took another drink to clear her throat. "The self-immolation thing caught me by surprise."
"According to the story," continued Quinn, who remained on his feet, "one of the servants---the butler, I believe---came across Ronald's body in the drawing room. Virginia was pouring kerosene over it, herself, and the room. When he tried to stop her, she scooped embers from the fireplace and threw them, setting the place ablaze. He barely had time to alert the others in the house to get out."
"Virginia was Ronald's third wife, correct? What happened to his second?" Even as she asked, Emma had the feeling the woman hadn't fared well.
"You know, we're sort of starting at the end of Addy's story and working backward."
"I'm fine with that." Emma took another bite of egg salad, only to find she'd lost her appetite. She wrapped up the rest of her sandwich and put it back in the bag.
"The second wife was another young woman like Addy, still a teenager when he married her less than a year after Addy's death." Quinn grabbed his half of the veggie sandwich from the table, took a bite, and swallowed. "Not much is known about her except that she died before their first anniversary. Witnesses claim they saw her walking down Broadway in her nightgown in the middle of the night. A few days later her body was found in the river."
Emma's ears pricked. "Wait. People saw her but didn't stop her? They weren't curious why a woman was walking alone in her nightgown at night?"
"A lot of the eyewitnesses believed it was a ghost---the ghost of Addy Ames, to be exact. Some swear it was Addy who lured the second Mrs. Dowd to her death---and who caused Virginia to go crazy."
Emma rubbed her upper arms from a chill that was starting from within. "That would be Addy's style."
Quinn rested one foot on the bench and leaned forward. "Well, here's a tidbit to support Addy's involvement. The Dowd diamond was a family heirloom. When Ronald married Addy, his mother gave it to him to give to her. Each time Ronald Dowd married, he gave the same large diamond ring to his bride."
"So if Addy was haunting it, she had access to her successors."
"Exactly. Ronald had three wives. Addy hanged herself. The second drowned, and the third went mad, killed Ronald, and burned down the mansion. Is it any wonder people think the ring and this place is cursed? Or any wonder why the family moved away?"
Quinn pointed at the velvet pouch, which Emma had put on the table while they ate. "Any action from within?"
"None." Emma opened the pouch and took out the ring. She caressed it. "It's stone-cold---has been ever since you saw the smoke going into it. I'm wondering if Addy's left it for good."
"Has your Granny seen her anywhere?"
"Granny's not here. I asked her to pop in on my parents to make sure Lainey's okay."
Quinn shook his head in amusement. "I can see how convenient it would be to have a friendly spirit at your disposal. It's like being in two places at once."
"Granny can be a real pill at times, and she's stubborn as an old mule, but she's always willing to help where she can, and she's fiercely loyal." Emma shot Quinn a slight smile. "She's my secret weapon. She also wasn't too keen on you patching me up like you did, even if you do remind her of Indiana Jones."
Quinn struck an action pose. "So she thinks I'm like Indy, does she?"
Emma couldn't help but grin at his antics, but she also couldn't help but think about Phil Bowers. The two men were so different in appearance, yet so much alike. Both were confident, intelligent, and accomplished, and both loved to joke and laugh. Already she felt as at home with Quinn as she did with Phil, and it unsettled her. Maybe that's what Granny didn't like---not Quinn's attentions but Emma's comfort with them.
Still holding the ring, Emma put her mind back onto the problem of Addy Ames. Swinging her legs to the outside of the bench, she got up. She took a seat on the table, placing her feet on the bench. "Now tell me about Addy and Edward."
Moving around to Emma's side of the table, Quinn took a seat on the table top next to her. "Addy Ames was a beauty, the daughter of a local merchant named Howard Ames."
"She is quite attractive," Emma commented. "At least what I've seen of her."
"Her family was well-to-do but not wealthy like the Dowds," Quinn continued. "As the story goes, when she turned eighteen, Ronald Dowd asked Addy's father for her hand in marriage. The Ames family was thrilled with the match, but Addy refused Ronald. She was in love with someone else."
"Edward Kelly?"
"Yes. It's your typical star-crossed lovers story, although it's unclear how the two met and became close. A match between them would have been unthinkable. He was from a poor family of Irish miners. Back then, the Irish were treated like animals. They were denied basic rights, not allowed to apply for jobs, not even permitted in some establishments."
Emma glanced at Quinn. "I remember that from history classes. It was much like African-Americans in the South before the civil rights movement."
"Yes. America, for all its freedoms, has never been kind to new arrivals, whether they came by force or of their own volition. Actually, much of the world is like that. People in general are fearful of others who are different from themselves. I've seen it time and time again all over the world."
Quinn cleared his throat before continuing and took a drink of his tea. "So Addy and Edward met and fell in love, even though it was forbidden by the times. Of course her family was outraged and insisted she marry Ronald Dowd. This was happening about the same time as the Molly Maguire arrests and trials, so anti-Irish sentiment was especially high. The Dowd family had interests in the mines and the railroads and was very influential. Charges of conspiracy were drummed up against poor young Edward, and he was thrown in jail with the others. He was eighteen years old."
Emma blinked back tears and hugged herself. Quinn bent down and picked up her jacket, placing it around her shoulders. He put an arm around her and kept it there for several heartbeats before removing it.
"They lied to me," came a hazy voice off to their left.
twenty-eight
Emma turned to see Addy standing on the edge of the clearing. The ghost was looking out over the town. "This was the view from the front porch. The porch went around three sides. It was a grand house, but to me it was a prison."
Emma nudged Quinn. "Addy's here," she whispered.
She turned her attention to the ghost, whose eyes were still fixed on the town. "Who lied to you, Addy?"
"Everyone. My father. Ronald. Even my mother." She turned to face Emma. "They said if I married Ronald, Edward would be set free. Ronald even offered to pay him money so he could start over somewhere else."
Emma's face fell with the weight of the young ghost's words. In a hushed tone, she relayed the story to Quinn before turning back to Addy. "But instead they hanged him?"
"Yes. Just a few months after Ronald and I wed." Addy moved around the clearing, studying the spot where the Dowd mansion once stood for any sign of the hated place. Emma turned to follow her with her eyes. Quinn noticed.
"Is she drifting about?" he asked.
Emma nodded. "She's moving around the clearing, to and fro, like pacing."
"I left Ronald," Addy continued, her voice a monotone but her jaw set in stone. "I left early one morning to catch the first train out of Mauch Chunk, but someone saw me at the train station and sent word to Ronald. He had two of his servants stop me and drag me back to the house."
"My dream," Emma told her. "I saw you waiting at the train station in one of my dreams."
The ghost nodded. "After that, Ronald took to beating me whenever I'd refuse his advances, which was every time. He wanted an heir, but I told him I would kill any child of his I conceived." Addy's words oozed long-embedded anger, letting Emma know she'd meant what she'd threatened.
"What's going on?" asked Quinn. Quickly, Emma brought him up to date with the conversation.
Quinn took a deep breath and blew it out. "That part wasn't in the local legend."
Addy came close to Emma and Quinn, standing directly in front of them. "Feel how cold it is right here in front of us?" Emma whispered to Quinn. He put out a hand and nodded. "Addy is right there. If the air temperature changes, she's moved away."
Emma turned her attention back to the young ghost. "So when you couldn't take it anymore, you hanged yourself. You used the sash from your robe, didn't you?"
The ghost swung her head side to side in a slow, exaggerated movement. "Ronald did that to me. He tied and gagged me, then used my own belt to hang me. He told me I could follow Edward into hell for all he cared. After, he made it look like I'd done it to myself."
Emma's hand shot to her mouth as she sucked in a quick shot of air.
"What?" asked Quinn, his eyes darting between Emma's face and the empty space in front of them.
"Addy didn't hang herself as we had thought; Ronald murdered her."
Quinn fixed his eyes directly in front of them. "Addy, is that why you haunted the Dowd diamond? For revenge?"
"Yes. No one who wore that ring was ever going to live a happy life. I made sure of that. And I made sure the ring survived. The cow that burned down the mansion wasn't wearing it when she died. It was in the Dowd safe, secure from the flames. It was also in the safe when the second wife drowned. The ring was only brought out when they went out in public." She turned her attention directly to Emma. "I use the ring, but I don't need it to influence weak minds." She let out a light, sinister laugh. "That stone embodies everything bad that has happened to me, so I used it to choose my victims."
After Emma translated, Quinn continued his conversation with the ghost. "But Addy, you killed a lot of innocent people with your actions. What Ronald did to you and Edward was wrong, but why did you want to hurt people who never harmed you?"
Without answering, the ghost turned her back on them. Before Emma could update Quinn, the ghost spun around, her pretty face contorted into pain and anger as hot and violent as molten lava. "Because I could!" she screamed at Quinn, her face nearly touching his. "Because, for the first time I was in control, and no one could stop me." She shook her fist in Quinn's face. "Just as no one stopped them from doing and taking whatever they wanted."
Quinn tilted his head toward Emma. "I don't know what she just said, but from the blast of cold air in my face, it wasn't pleasant."
Emma translated, then turned toward the ghost. "It's over, Addy. It's time for you to stop the senseless killing and join Edward in peace. I brought you here to end this."
The ghost lifted her chin and surveyed Emma with defiance before moving away. When Quinn started to speak, Emma clutched his hand, stopping him. The two of them sat on the bench overlooking the town once known as Mauch Chunk, Emma's hand on Quinn's, and waited, not knowing what Addy was thinking or feeling, but hoping she'd seen enough death.
Early evening was upon them. It would still be light for a few more hours, but as the sun started its descent, the air was turning cooler. Quinn moved his hand from Emma's and put his arm around her shoulders, this time keeping it there. "You warm enough?"
She nodded but didn't move from his embrace.
"She still here?" he asked.
Emma turned her head, first to her left, then to her right, until she spotted Addy. The troubled spirit was seated against a tree, her dressing gown wrapped around her legs. Her face was smooth with tranquility, and her eyes were shut in contemplation; the earlier rage was gone. "Yes, she's still here, but maybe we should go and leave her be for now. We've said what we could. The decision is up to her."
Quinn hopped off the picnic table and turned, holding out his hands to Emma to help her down. She did her own hop, which ended in a wobble. Her jacket slipped from her shoulders to the ground. Quinn grabbed hold of her shoulders but didn't remove them once she was upright and steady.
His eyes latched onto hers with intensity as he tightened his grip. "Emma, you're quite extraordinary."
A soft laugh reminiscent of a bubbling sigh escaped her lips as she stuffed the ring's velvet pouch into a pocket. "Why---because I talk to ghosts? More people than you realize can do that. They just keep it under wraps."
"No. Not because you can do that, but because you have such empathy for the dead. You genuinely feel what they feel and understand them as individuals."
His look turned her legs into jelly, and she was happy he had a good hold of her. She tried to answer with a steady voice but couldn't. Her voice, like her legs, was shaky. "Milo Ravenscroft, my mentor, told me to always remember that ghosts were once alive and to respect them as I would a living person."
"You have more than respect for them, Emma." He raised the hand on her left shoulder to her cheek, lightly caressing it with two fingertips. "You feel for them. You put yourself in their place. You take on and give their emotions life."
She dragged her eyes away from his face as she shrugged off the thought but stayed put. "If I really did that, I'd be killing people on behalf of poor Addy instead of trying to make her stop."
He laughed. "I hope not."
Emma turned her eyes back to him. She liked the way the fine lines around Quinn's eyes and mouth deepened when he laughed, as if punctuating his amusement.
He ran his hand from her cheek down to her chin and tilted her face slightly upward. Emma watched his eyes travel her face, memorizing every nuance and curve. Her eyes did the same, taking in his long reddish-blond lashes and slight bump in the middle of his nose. When Quinn's eyes lingered on her mouth, Emma closed her eyes and leaned forward. Their lips touched softly at first, each testing the willingness of the other. The first few kisses were light and playful, mere brushes of flesh against flesh. Quinn's hand cupped her face while his other hand slipped to the small of her back and pulled her to him, their mouths locking with mutual urgency.
After the second long kiss, Emma slipped her arms around Quinn's neck and abandoned herself to the feelings she'd been having since their meeting in her office.
The tinkling sound of bells filled their ears. Quinn broke their lip lock with a small snicker. "Did you order up accompaniment, or are the spirits serenading us?"
Emma broke away from him as the sound started up again. "That's Kelly." She bent down to quickly rifle through the pockets of her jacket until she located her cell phone.
"The ghost of Edward Kelly is calling you from the jail? How modern of him."
"No," Emma laughed. "Kelly, my daughter."
Emma hit the answer button. "Hi, sweetie." She turned away from Quinn, noticing at the same time that Addy Ames was gone.
"Mom, you okay? You sound out of breath."
"I was in the middle of a hike."
"Fibber," came Granny's snappish voice. The ghost popped into view just in front of Emma. "You were in the middle of a kiss that melted the bottoms of your boots."
Emma turned away from Granny. Now Quinn was in her sights again. He was packing the remainder of their lunch and trash into his backpack while keeping an eye on her. Emma turned in another direction, trying to stay away from both Granny's look of disapproval and Quinn's look of smoldering sexiness.
"You're still in Pennsylvania?" Kelly asked.
"Yes. I'm hoping to leave tomorrow or the day after and drive up to Boston to see you, if that's okay."
"That's why I'm calling. I really do want to see you, Mom, but I got a summer job, and it starts this coming weekend."
"A job?" Forgetting the two sets of eyes keeping watch on her, Emma dropped down onto one of the table seats. "You're not coming home for the summer?"
"I'll be home near the end of the summer for a few weeks."
Emma closed her eyes and pressed the phone close to her face. "Kelly, does this have anything to do with what happened to Summer Perkins? If so, we need to talk about that. I can't have you thinking I'm some sort of freak."
Silence filled the airwaves between mother and daughter. Finally Kelly said, "No, Mom, it's not. I was very upset about that, but I know it wasn't your fault." There was another pause on Kelly's end before she added, "Granny told me what happened."
Emma's eyes popped open as she turned her head to the place where Granny had been planted, passing judgment on Emma's kiss. She locked a stern look onto the spirit while speaking to Kelly. "Granny told you? How long has this been going on?" Granny turned this way and that to avoid Emma's laser look. Pursing her lips, the ghost started whistling a silent tune and buried her hands in the deep pockets of her homespun skirt.
"I discovered I could hear Granny right after Grandpa George's funeral." Kelly was referring to George Whitecastle, Grant's father, who had died from cancer just days before last Christmas. "I was crying, and she talked to me. But I couldn't see her until after I returned to school."
Emma kept an eye on Granny, who now floated about the clearing pretending to keep her eye on Quinn, who quickly realized he wasn't the one who held Emma's interest at the moment. He watched Emma's eyes as they traveled the grassy area and kept half an ear on her conversation.
"And how often does Granny visit you?"
"Is Granny in trouble?" Kelly asked in a worried voice.
"It depends," Emma answered honestly. "Is she interfering with your studies? Or making you uncomfortable around your friends?"
"No, Mom, nothing like that. Sometimes she visits when I'm feeling lonely. She tells me what's going on at home and stories of Julian and Great-Grandpa Jacob."
"And she told you what's going on concerning Summer and Lainey?"
"Yes." Another self-conscious pause. "And about Addy Ames."
"Uh-huh." Emma had wanted to keep Kelly from the dark side of the spirit world as long as possible. It didn't bother her that Kelly was bonding with Granny. She'd half expected Kelly to develop such skills considering Elizabeth had them, too, but it did bother her that Kelly was learning so soon that ghosts could be killers. Although, Emma reasoned in a snap of clarity, Lainey knew, so why not Kelly? Kelly was a grown woman, and now that Emma knew she had the gift, she would have to guide and teach her about it as Milo had taught her. Casting her look from Granny to Quinn, Emma knew now wasn't the time to begin Kelly's lessons.
"So tell me about the job," she asked her daughter.
There was no mistaking the excitement in her daughter's voice as Kelly told her about the summer position one of her professors had secured for her. It was as an assistant to a brilliant and elderly historian, helping her to catalogue and sort her papers for her memoirs. Kelly would live at the woman's large beach house in the Hamptons for the summer. Emma understood it was an opportunity of a lifetime and one Kelly couldn't pass up.
Then Kelly said something that jarred Emma. "I was told you could come for a visit if you wanted. Phil, too. She said in my interview she'd really like to meet you. Doesn't that sound like fun?"
Phil. His name coming from Kelly's mouth hit Emma with cold, chilly guilt. Kelly said his name as naturally as if he were her father. Emma shot a glance at Quinn, then quickly turned away. "It does sound like fun, sweetie. And I'm sure Phil would like that."
When Emma finished with the call, she found Quinn standing by the footpath, ready to leave. His backpack was slung over one shoulder, and in his hands was Emma's jacket. He didn't look at her as she approached but studied the bark on a nearby tree as if it were an ancient manuscript.
As Emma passed Granny, she pointed a finger at the spirit. "We're going to talk about this later," she said in a steady, stern whisper, "so don't go disappearing on me for long."
Granny shrugged and popped out of sight as quickly as she'd appeared.
When she reached Quinn, Emma took her jacket from him. "Sorry, Quinn, but Kelly had to tell me about her new job. I was going to drive up to Boston to visit her, but that's off now." Emma passed along the information Kelly had given her about the job.
"Wow," he said, clearly impressed. "That summer job could open a lot of opportunities for her in the future."
"That's what I'm thinking. I'll miss her over the summer, but I have to let her go sometime, right?"
Quinn made no move to start down the path toward the town but stopped studying the local foliage to look at her. "So, are you and Phil going to visit her in the Hamptons?"
Emma put on her jacket against the growing evening chill. "I don't know. It's a lot to process on the fly---Kelly's job, Addy, Lainey's safety..." She let her words drift off on the breeze that had picked up.
"And me?"
Emma met his look. It wasn't challenging, but it wasn't meek and submissive. Quinn's eyes were brimming with the pain of decision.
"Look, Emma." He reached out and stroked her upper arm. "I haven't been so captivated by a woman in years." A small, sheepish smile crossed his face. "In the past, I've not had much integrity when it came to poaching other guy's girls, but for some reason I can't be that guy. Not this time. Not with you. What I feel for you isn't flirtatious sport."
Emma eased away from him. "I've been seeing Phil Bowers for almost two years, and I love him deeply; I'm sure of that. During that time, not once have I been attracted to another man. Not once, until now. I'm not a flighty woman."
"I know that. That solidness is part of what makes you so disarming and this so difficult. I'm not the sort to settle down, Emma, but you make me want to put down roots as deep as this tree." He rapped his knuckles on the thick tree trunk next to him.
"We haven't known each other very long, Quinn. We've been thrown together by this situation, and one thing led to another."
His face turned dark. "Is that what you think this is? A passing road-trip fancy involving ghosts, goblins, and a little slap and tickle?"
"I don't know." Emma's voice sharpened with frustration. "I just know I'm confused. I feel guilty one minute and don't give a damn the next. I need time to process it."
As Quinn reached for her again, the tinkling of a piano sounded from the cell phone still clutched in her hand. Emma didn't have to read the display to know the caller was her mother. The piano was her mother's personal ring tone. "That's my mother," she told Quinn, not taking her eyes from his. "It might be about Lainey."
"Your family has remarkable timing." He moved away to give her privacy as she answered the call.
"Hi, Mother, what's up?" Emma's eyes followed Quinn as he walked to one of the tables and dropped his backpack on it. His shoulders were tense and his jaw tight. He looked like a statue with clothes. She closed her eyes and turned away to concentrate on the call.
"It's just awful, Emma," Elizabeth gushed in tones of horror.
Forgetting her own dilemma, Emma went on alert. "Is it Lainey?"
"The story just broke on TV. We're all in shock."
"I'm nowhere near a TV. What's going on? Is Lainey all right?"
"Physically Lainey's fine, but we're on our way back to Los Angeles."
"Mother, what's happened?" The fear in Emma's voice caused Quinn to snap his head around in her direction.
"It's Linwood Reid, Emma. He's dead. Joanna's been taken into custody for his murder."
Before Emma could react to the news, Addy Ames appeared in front of her. Just behind her was the ghost of Edward Kelly. "You were right, Emma. It is time for me to move on." Addy glanced back at her ill-fated lover. "Thank you for bringing me back to Edward." She faced Emma again, her face smooth as alabaster. "And don't worry about Lainey. She's safe. I made sure of that."
The hand holding the cell phone dropped to Emma's side as she put her mother's news together with Addy's words of goodbye. From the phone came Elizabeth's voice. "Emma, are you still there?"
On autopilot, Emma raised the cell to her mouth without taking her eyes from Addy's face. "Let me call you back, Mother. Stay by the phone. It'll just be a minute." She cut off the call and stared at the spirit.
Quinn, seeing Emma's distress, stepped quickly to her side. "What's happening, Emma?"
"Linwood Reid was just murdered by his wife, Lainey's mother." The news caused Quinn to stagger back a step.
Emma asked the malicious ghost, "What have you done, Addy? Did you entice Joanna Reid to kill her husband?"
"I told you I didn't need the ring to carry out my plans." The ghost gave her a slow, smug smile. "Think of it as my final farewell to the Dowd family and an apology to Lainey."
With those words echoing in Emma's ears, Addy and Edward disappeared.
twenty-nine
Emma sat in the living room of a lovely and spacious beach house in Malibu. Across from her sat Joanna Reid. Beyond the glass wall that opened to spill onto a large deck seamlessly marrying the indoors with the outdoors, the Pacific Ocean sparkled like a field of teal taffeta. The house was set up on pilings. Looking out, one couldn't see the sandy beach below, just the blanket of shimmering water. The great room of the house had several clusters of furniture arranged in conversational groupings but was dominated by a large white sectional sofa reminiscent of an uncooked crescent roll. It was situated on an area rug of looped wool in a natural shade. Anyone sitting on the sofa was rewarded with the grand view of the ocean. The house was furnished in a modern minimalist style, yet it didn't feel sterile. Each of the furnishings was impeccable and appeared chosen specifically for the house. The home seemed more suited to Joanna than the sprawling mansion she'd shared with Linwood Reid and was even a better fit than the charming beach house she'd owned with Max Naiman.
"I love this house, Joanna. It's perfect for you."
Joanna looked around in a detached manner, almost as if seeing it for the first time. "It is nice, isn't it? Lainey leased it for us until the trial is over. What happens then depends on the outcome." The cockiness was gone from the former studio executive. She seemed smaller and softer, like an inflatable doll with a pinprick leak. She also seemed more at peace, even with a murder charge hanging over her head.
"I hope you don't mind that I wanted to come by," Emma told her, "but I wanted to see how you were doing. Lainey thought you might like the company."
"Actually, Emma, I was thinking of giving you a call and inviting you for a visit, but it's such a long drive to Malibu from Pasadena, and ... well," she hesitated and looked out at the sea. "I'm not going out in public much these days. Seems everywhere I go, people gawk at me like I'm some sort of sideshow."
"I understand, Joanna. It was no bother at all coming to you."
A maid entered with a tray of refreshments. It was Bonita, the maid Emma remembered from the Reid mansion. Emma gave her a smile of recognition. The maid returned it, seeming much more relaxed in her new environment. "Nice to see you again, Bonita." Bonita smiled and offered Emma a glass of iced tea.
It had been a month since Linwood Reid was killed by two bullets to his chest fired from a gun held by Joanna. She was currently out on bail awaiting trial. Lainey was standing by her mother. She never went back to the condominium in Westwood. She and Keith Goldstein had patched up their relationship, and the two of them were living at the beach house with Joanna. The condo was up for sale.
"I understand Lainey and Keith are engaged again."
Without looking at Emma, Joanna answered, "Yes, I am very pleased. He's a nice young man and loves her very much."
Joanna's answers seemed stilted, making Emma wonder if she was under the influence of a mild sedative. As if in answer to Emma's thoughts, Joanna turned her head and gave her a sardonic smile. Emma could see her eyes were clear and her mind unclouded.
"He loves her in spite of her crazy family," Joanna said with amusement. "Can't get much more loyal than that."
Joanna took a sip of tea and replaced her glass on the tray set on the coffee table. She folded her hands in her lap, ready to move forward with purpose. "I wanted to apologize to you and explain what was going on."
"You don't owe me any explanation or apology, Joanna." Emma was eager to hear Joanna's side of things but didn't want to push the issue. Lainey had filled her in on much of it, and some she'd learned from the media.
"Yes, I do. When I asked you to help me with Max's ghost, I think I knew he was here for Lainey, but it seemed so farfetched. A father coming back from the dead to help his daughter? That's the stuff that makes great Sunday night TV, not real life."
From her throat came the sound of a small wounded bird. She cleared it and continued. "I was hoping you'd tell me it was all bunk, but instead you only confirmed my suspicions. And when it all started tying in with Lainey and Linwood, I was afraid you'd find out everything---that Lin was broke and had taken me down with him. I had nothing of my own but the income from my job, and now that's gone."
Emma felt embarrassment on Joanna's behalf. The news media and tabloids had not been kind or subtle about the studio firing Joanna. "I saw that the studio let you go."
"Yes, doesn't matter that I've worked for them for sixteen years and championed many of their hit shows. They enforced the morals clause of my contract after I was charged." Another sound, a half choke, half laugh, escaped her lips. "Considering the behavior of over half the executives at the studio, that was a real kick in the pants. Morals clause, my ass."
Emma didn't want to wallow in Joanna's personal tragedy like the bloodthirsty general public was doing, but she wanted to know about the ring. "Joanna, did you tell your attorney about the haunted ring?"
She shook her head. "No. Lainey and I discussed that and thought we shouldn't because it would make everyone think I was insane, or at least my attorney might want to use it to get me off on insanity. Besides, I didn't have the ring when I fired the gun. The shooting falls squarely on my shoulders."
Emma thought about Addy Ames. The ghost had alluded to having a hand in the shooting of Linwood Reid, and Emma knew Addy didn't need the ring to cause mischief. Still, Emma kept quiet. Joanna was right; it would be viewed as crazy talk.
Joanna stood up and walked to where the room met the patio. "Did you know I was having an affair with Lin while I was married to Max?"
"Lainey told me when she was at Serenity."
Joanna turned back to Emma. A small look of surprise crossed her face like a passing cloud. "She always was a smart girl." She turned back around to stare at the sea. "When I decided I wanted to try and make my marriage work, Lin was very supportive and said we would remain friends, no matter what, and we did stay in touch as friends only. When I told him about our renewal of vows, he insisted on taking me to his favorite jeweler. He said he saw the perfect ring there for Max. And it was. Max loved that ring."
"Did Lainey tell you that Lin and his family owned the ring a long time ago?"
"Yes. She told me what you found out in Pennsylvania right after we moved to this house. Quite a story. I wouldn't mind producing a TV movie about it."
Joanna pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the pocket of her loose linen trousers. She held the pack toward Emma in invitation, but Emma shook her head. "Should have known," Joanna commented. "No one smokes anymore. I only do it when I'm nervous." She lit one and blew the smoke out toward the ocean, then leaned against the sliding door.
Emma got up, picked up their glasses of tea, and crossed the room to Joanna. "Why don't we make ourselves comfortable outside while you smoke?" Silently Joanna followed Emma to cushioned chairs arranged around a patio table.
"When did you realize Lin had a motive in suggesting that particular ring?" Emma asked as she placed Joanna's tea in front of her.
"The pieces started falling together the day I visited you in Pasadena, when you told me the ring was haunted. I remembered Lin insisting that was the ring I should buy Max, then later insisting we give the stone to Lainey to use in her engagement ring. When Lainey started having trouble, he suggested that awful facility in Cabo. As soon as I got home that day, I checked out what you said about that place, Emma, and it was all true." Joanna took a drag from her cigarette and blew the smoke in the direction of the breeze so it would not reach Emma. "Lin was going through a great deal of trouble to kill off my family for their money, and I never realized it until then."
With her free hand, she picked up her glass and took a long drink of her tea. "That's why I killed him, because he was going to kill Lainey." Her voice was being corralled into an even, disciplined tone by sheer will. "I overheard him talking on the phone to someone. He'd put a hit out on her as if she were a common thug. That's why I called you so frantic about her whereabouts."
Emma was horrified. "A hit? He contracted to have Lainey killed?" This was something neither Lainey nor the news had mentioned.
"That's what it sounded like to me. Of course this will all come out in the trial."
"Was it someone named Jamal?"
"Is that the yoga instructor from Serenity?"
Emma nodded.
"No, not him. Apparently he was hired just to keep tabs on Lainey. He really did think he was helping reunite Lainey with her family and had no idea what Lin had in mind. But using the information Jamal provided, the killer was going to slip into the facility and murder her." On the last several words, Joanna broke down into a series of choked, choppy sobs.
Emma was horrified. "Joanna, you don't have to tell me this if it's too difficult."
The distraught woman waved the comment off and continued. "The next day, I overheard him talking again on the phone. He thought I'd gone to the office, but I returned because I'd forgotten something. After talking to you the day before, I told him Lainey was back at Serenity. Jamal had told him she'd left a few days earlier. If Lin thought she was still gone, he'd have hunted her down. This way, I thought he could just keep thinking she'd returned, and she'd be safe wherever she was." Joanna's voice cracked through her tears. "But when I heard him again talking about killing her---telling this monster on the phone to make sure it looked like a suicide---I snapped." She dropped her cigarette butt into a small crystal ashtray before burying her head in her hands. "That was my baby girl he was talking about!"
Joanna stopped crying and looked up at Emma. "I went upstairs and got the gun Lin kept in his dressing room. Lin was coming up the main staircase as I was coming down. Before he could say a word, I drew the gun and shot him---twice. Bonita heard the shots. She came running and screamed when she saw Lin's body. I walked downstairs. When I got to the kitchen, I called 911."
"I was there, Emma. She's telling the truth." The spirit of Max Naiman materialized next to the railing. In the sunlight, with the ocean behind him, it was difficult for Emma to make him out at first, but soon his image came into view. "Lin was making arrangements to have Lainey killed." He shook his head. "Too bad ghosts can't testify."
Joanna looked at Emma with a mix of relief and fear. "Max is here with us, isn't he? I can feel him."
"Yes," Emma confirmed. "He's here, and he says he was there when you shot Lin."
"I thought he might have been. I felt that heavy weight I always get when he's around."
Joanna twisted her head from side to side, struggling to make out her dead husband.
"He's over there by the railing," Emma told her.
Joanna fixed her eyes on where Emma indicated, her face contorted with emotional pain. "I am so sorry, Max." She started to cry. "I should have protected Lainey better. I failed both of you."
Max moved to stand in front of Joanna. "I forgive you, Joanna. For us it's too late, but it's not too late for you to make it up to Lainey." He turned to Emma. "Make sure you tell her what I said."
Emma nodded to the ghost, then relayed his message. Joanna put her head in her hands and quietly sobbed.
As Max's image began to fade, he leaned down, putting his mouth close to Emma's ear. "It wasn't entirely Addy's influence that caused Joanna to shoot Lin." He spoke in a conspiratorial voice, as if someone else might hear. "I could have stopped it, as I stopped Lainey, but I chose not to."
Emma jerked her head to stare at the ghost as he made his confession, but she said nothing.
"Instead, Addy and I joined forces. Joanna didn't have a chance against us, especially with the emotional state she was in that day." Max stood up, his image almost gone. "And I have no regrets. Lin needed to pay for what he'd done, and he needed to be stopped from hurting Lainey ever again."
"Max," Joanna began, straining to see him. "I am so very sorry," she repeated, choking out the words.
"I'm sorry, Joanna, he's gone." Emma reached out and patted the distraught woman's hand. "And I don't think he'll be back."
Seeing Joanna shivering, Emma suggested they go back inside. Getting Joanna on her feet, she steered her back into the house and onto the large white sofa. Joanna looked beaten and frail after telling her story, and Emma wondered how she was ever going to make it through a full trial.
"I was going to leave Lin, you know?" Joanna said once she was settled comfortably. "Long before all this started."
Emma was surprised. "I didn't know that."
"That's probably what you picked up on when you said I was different around him. I'd even visited a lawyer on the sly. That's when I found out he was in a lot of trouble and owed a lot of money. He'd gone through his own fortune and most of my money. I'm sure it was his motivation for trying to get his hands on Lainey's inheritance."
"Is that why you tried to pay Keith to marry Lainey sooner than later?"
"Yes. If she were married, I thought Lin might quit dogging her, because her money would be lost to his manipulations. I wanted her taken care of before I filed for divorce."
Emma looked around and saw a cashmere throw laid across the back of a chair. She retrieved it and arranged it across Joanna's lap, pulling it up high on her chest. Joanna clutched at it like an invalid.
"I was a fool to give him authority over my accounts, but I thought he could expand them as he claimed he'd done with his own. After all, look at the house he owned---it screamed fabulous wealth, didn't it? Turns out it belonged to a business associate of his who lives in the Middle East. I lived there for several years and never knew that. Turns out his money problems were starting about the time we started our affair."
Her coral-stained lips were dry and cracked. "I was so enthralled by Linwood Reid when I first met him. It was at a party in Beverly Hills, some charity thing Max didn't want to attend, so I went alone. Max may have been an action hero onscreen, but in real life he was a simple, laid-back guy who wanted nothing more than to spend time with his family, drive fast cars, and catch an occasional wave. Lin, on the other hand, was a powerful man with friends who made international headline news. Being with him was heady stuff. It blinded me to what he really was, and by the time I found out, it was too late to save myself, but it wasn't too late to save Lainey."
On the drive back to Pasadena, Emma thought about Joanna's ill-fated attraction to Linwood Reid even though she already had a solid, dependable man in her life. Emma compared Phil to Quinn. She was pretty sure Quinn was not after her money and was nothing like Linwood Reid, but still he was an adventurer and his life was exciting, while Phil was a laid-back guy like Max.
After receiving the news about Lin's murder, Quinn and Emma had run back to the inn, where they turned on the TV in Emma's room looking for news reports about it. While Emma called her mother back, Quinn used his laptop to search for the next flight back to California for Emma. When he found it, he waved her over to the computer.
"Mother," she said into her cell phone while checking out the flight Quinn indicated, "there's a flight leaving here around eight o'clock tonight. It connects through Washington, DC, and gets me into LAX around twelve thirty in the morning. I'll be on it if I have to stow away in the bathroom."
"What about your research, Emma?" her mother asked. "You really need to get to the bottom of that ring or no one will be at peace. Dad and I can help Lainey."
"I did that today, Mother. I don't think Addy's going to be bothering anyone else again."
After hanging up with her mother, Emma called the airline and booked her return trip for that night. She had an open-return first-class ticket and had no problem getting on the short flight to DC. On the second leg of her journey, she snagged the last available seat.
Quinn wanted to go with her back to Los Angeles, but Emma had told him no, things were complicated enough. While he watched and Granny chaperoned, Emma threw her clothes and toiletries into her small suitcase. If she left soon, she'd make the flight in plenty of time.
"Wow," she said to Quinn as they said their goodbyes. They were in the back parking lot of the inn, standing next to Emma's rental car. "It feels like I've been here a week instead of just one day."
He reached out to touch her hair. "You've been one busy ghost hunter. You should come back when you have time to relax. There are lots of great things to do around here. Or maybe I should come visit you in California."
Without thinking, Emma blurted out, "You'd love Julian. I'm sure of it."
"Is that an invitation?"
Emma looked away. Around them, slender trees swayed in the breeze like a chorus of dancers. "I don't know what it is, Quinn." She turned back to look at him. "And frankly---"
"And frankly, my dear," Quinn said, cutting her off, "you don't give a damn?"
"No, not that at all," she insisted with a frown. "I was going to say, frankly, I don't have time to think about my personal life right now."
She started to get into the car but stopped and turned back to look again at Dr. Quinn Keenan. She started to say something else but wasn't sure what it was. Perhaps it had all been said.
Surrendering one last, small smile, she climbed into the driver's side of the rental car, buckled up, and turned over the engine. Granny was perched in the passenger's seat. Emma started backing the car out of the tight parking spot.
"You gonna make that flight?" Granny asked with concern.
"I have plenty of time as long as I don't have any car trouble between here and the airport."
"Good. I can't wait to get you home where you belong."
A sharp retort was on the tip of Emma's tongue, but she swallowed it. She wasn't in the mood to spar with Granny at the moment.
Once out of the parking spot, Emma turned the car toward the narrow exit. It spilled onto Broadway. A left onto Broadway, then a right at the corner, and she'd be on her way to the airport.
She took one last look in her rearview mirror. Quinn was standing a few feet behind her car, watching her leave. His left hand was stuffed into the pocket of his jeans. His right hand was against his heart.
Emma stopped the car and stared at him with heavy eyes.
"What's the matter?" asked Granny. "Did the car break down already?"
Without answering, Emma unbuckled her seat belt and climbed back out of the car. She stood for a moment looking at Quinn but not moving. He didn't move either. Taking a deep breath, Emma quickly covered the steps between them and threw her arms around his neck. Their kiss was deep and hard, finally interrupted by the honk of a horn.
Breaking apart, they saw another car coming through the tiny parking lot, heading for the exit. Emma's car blocked its progress.
Emma raised a hand to the other driver. "Just a minute."
She cupped Quinn's face in her palm for a second, then spun on her heel and did a swan dive back into her car. A second later she was on Broadway, waiting for the light at the corner.
"Humph," Granny huffed. "Was that a goodbye kiss or a see-ya-later kiss?"
"God help me, Granny," replied Emma, wiping tears away with the back of her left hand, "I don't know."
the end
author's note
As with all my Granny Apples novels, I enjoy weaving the past with the present and fiction with reality. The Pennsylvanian town of Jim Thorpe (formerly known as Mauch Chunk) is a real place, and many of the spots Emma visits or talks about---such as the Old Jail Museum, the Dimmick Library, and the Inn at Jim Thorpe---are also real.
The Molly Maguires and their trials and executions are also a part of the history of the town of Jim Thorpe. The hanged men I mention in the book---Alexander Campbell, Edward Kelly, John "Yellow Jack" Donohue, and Thomas Fisher---were real, though I took quite a bit of liberty with Edward Kelly, the youngest of the bunch.
Feel free to visit the charming town of Jim Thorpe and the Old Jail Museum. Betty Lou McBride, the actual owner of the museum, will be happy to show you the gallows, the dungeon, and the handprint on the wall of cell number 17.
Visit www.jimthorpe.org or www.theoldjailmuseum.com for more information about Jim Thorpe, PA, and the Molly Maguires.
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