Gem of a Ghost: A Ghost of Granny Apples Mystery (14 page)

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.”