Gem of a Ghost: A Ghost of Granny Apples Mystery (3 page)

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.

f
ive

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.