Granny Apples 05 - Ghost in the Guacamole (7 page)

Rikki stood up straight and stared at Emma in disbelief a few seconds before speaking. “He did and you didn't tell me?”

“I wasn't sure how you would take it,” Emma responded.

“Is that the question you needed to ask? If I could
take it
or not?”

“No, Rikki. That's not the question.” Emma put her hands palms-down on her thighs and plunged forward. “My question is, if your father tells me to tell you something that I know you won't want to hear, do you still want to hear it?”

Rikki shook her head like a confused puppy. “What kind of a question is that?”

“A darn good one,” chimed in Granny as she moved closer to Rikki.

Phil left the window and also moved closer to Rikki. “What Emma is saying is, what if your father isn't on the same page as you about the company? Isn't that why you're having Emma contact him?”

Looking first at Phil, then Emma, Rikki said, “I want my father's advice.”

Emma stood up and joined them at Rikki's desk. “Rikki, you told me you want Felix's advice on how to convince Lucy not to sell Roble Foods.”

“Yes, that is what I want,” Rikki confirmed. “He's always known best how to deal with her pigheadedness.”

“But,” Emma continued, “what if Felix sides with Lucy on this? What if he tells you to sell it all?”

Rikki crossed her arms in front of her in defense and narrowed her eyes with suspicion. “Has he told you that, or are you preparing me in case he does?”

“He has told me to tell you to sell,” Emma told her. “In fact, he's emphatic about it. He wants you to take the money and start over someplace else.”

“Leave Los Angeles?” Rikki asked with surprise.

“He didn't clarify that,” Emma said, “but he wants you to leave here—this restaurant and this location.”

Rikki stalked to the window. After looking down on the street for almost a full minute, she turned back to Phil and Emma, her face set hard as stone. “Now I know T.J. is right about you. My father would never agree to the sale and especially not to our family abandoning this street. It's part of our heritage. You said yourself that even in death he still walks it every day to check on his friends.”

“True, but yesterday he told me to tell you to sell it,” Emma told her. “He told me again today that you need to sell.”

“And you folks need to leave,” Rikki replied, pointing at the door.

“This girl is as pigheaded as her sister,” groused Granny.

Phil held out a hand toward Rikki. “Please, Rikki, listen to Emma. She's telling you the truth.”

Rikki looked at Phil. “Did you hear my father say that?”

Phil shook his head. “No, I didn't. I can't see or hear spirits, but I know that Emma can.” He frowned at her, taking a tougher stance. “You came to her, remember? She has no interest in how this plays out, sale or no sale. She just wants to help you.”

Rikki was quiet for a few seconds, then said, “Please leave, both of you, now.”

Emma went back to the sofa to pick up her purse. Granny followed her. “Stubborn or not,” the ghost said to Emma, “you can't leave without telling her everything. She at least needs to be warned.”

Again Emma agreed with Granny, but she needed to piece together exactly how to say the words to Rikki, who was now on the defensive and angry. After a slight nod to Granny, Emma slung her bag over her arm and indicated to Phil that it was time to leave. Before they reached the door, Emma turned to Rikki and dropped a bombshell. “You know how to reach me if you want more help, Rikki, but I'm going to leave you with this to consider. Yesterday, when Felix came to me, he was adamant that you sell the business. He said if you didn't, you might die, just as he did. Today he was still determined that you sell and for the same reason.”

Rikki's rigid arms fell limp by her sides. Emma and Phil were nearly out the door when she found her tongue. “Are you suggesting that my father was killed?”

Emma turned to her. “I'm just relaying what he said to me.”

“But who would have done such a thing? Everyone loved my father and the police said he fell when he had a heart attack.”

“He didn't say anything more than that, Rikki. He's only spoken to me briefly and I haven't had the chance to question him about it. I was hoping to do that when he returned.”

Rikki shook a finger at Emma. “I don't believe it, Emma Whitecastle. You're a scammer just like T.J. said. You're trying to frighten me into selling and using my poor dead father to do it. If my sister is behind this, I'll see her rot in hell!”

“T
HAT
went well,” Phil said as they walked back down Olvera Street. “Guess we're lunching at Traxx after all.”

Emma didn't say a word. When they reached Los Angeles Plaza Park at the end of Olvera Street, she became even more sullen and distracted but didn't resist when Phil directed them left down Paseo de la Plaza. Granny had disappeared when they left Rikki. They continued walking in silence until they reached Alameda Street. Emma started across the busy street and would have walked right into traffic if Phil hadn't gotten a good grip on her arm to hold her back.

“Hey, where do you think you're going?” he asked her. “The cross light is red.”

Although Emma stopped when Phil grasped her arm, she didn't look at or even acknowledge him. She stared ahead, almost in a trance.

“Emma, what's the matter?” he asked.

She didn't answer but her face puckered as she fought back tears.

“Emma,” Phil said to her.

When the crosswalk light came on, Emma moved forward across the wide street. Phil walked with her, keeping a tight hold of her arm. When they reached the other side, he guided her into Union Station.

Opened in 1939, Union Station is a stately building of great beauty, both inside and out. The architecture and furnishings skillfully blend Spanish Colonial, Mission Revival, and Art Deco. It was a busy day with passengers going to and from train platforms or sitting scattered in the boxy mission-style chairs in the main waiting room.

Phil guided Emma to a section away from most of the waiting passengers and sat her down in one of the chairs. He bent down in front of her on the terra-cotta tile. Her eyes were open but her face was screwed up in horror only she could see. “Emma,” he said gently, “come back to me.” When she didn't respond, he clutched her right shoulder with his left hand and shook her firmly. “Come back to me,” he ordered, again keeping his voice low and gentle. “You belong here.”

Finally, she turned her blue eyes to his. Recognition entered them like a slow-filling cup until she shook off the stupor and returned to the present. She looked down to her lap. Phil's right hand was holding both of her hands, his knuckles nearly white with intensity.

“I'm okay, Phil,” she said to him. She gave him a small smile to confirm her words.

“Where did you go, Emma? What did you see?” He took the seat next to her but continued to hold on to her hands. “Was it Felix? Did you see his death or who killed him? Did you see something else happening?”

She shook her head. “No. Nothing to do with the Ricardos.” She looked around. “Can you get me some water, Phil?”

“Sure, but you stay put.” He got up and crossed the waiting room, walking quickly across the wide inlaid center strip to a small concession stand on the other side. In just over a minute he returned with a bottle of cold water, twisting the cap off on the return trip. “Here, sweetheart.” He handed her the water and sat next to her again.

After taking a long drink, Emma said, “It was horrible, Phil. Shortly after we left Olvera Street, I started feeling awful, like I was being squeezed in a trash compactor or something like that.”

“Were there lots of spirits coming to you?” he asked.

“No, I didn't see any spirits, but I felt them. Pushing and closing in on me. They were crying for help and begging for their lives but in another language. I didn't understand them, yet I did.” She looked confused. “They were dying horrible deaths.”

Phil looked surprised. “Did you recognize anything at all? See anything at all?”

Emma took another drink while she searched her memory. “I think they were Asian, maybe Chinese. The words sounded like Chinese anyway.” She shrugged. “We are close to Chinatown.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Hanging,” she said bluntly after a few seconds without opening her eyes. “Some of them were or had been hanged.”

“Hangings? You're sure?” When she nodded, Phil slumped in his chair and closed his own eyes. When he opened them, he turned to her and took her hands again. “What do you know about this area? You know, the history of this area of LA?”

Again she shrugged. “Just what I learned in school. This is where the first settlement occurred. Settled in the late 1700s by the Spanish, I think. The mission on the other side of the plaza was built shortly after.”

“That's correct. Anything else?” he urged.

“I know the modern Olvera Street marketplace we visited today wasn't established until the 1930s. I read that online before visiting Rikki yesterday.”

“Nothing else, Emma?” Phil asked, not taking his eyes off her face.

She gave it more thought then shook her head. “They just taught us the basics in school. Why? What do you know?”

“In college,” he began, “I did a paper for a class based on Los Angeles immigrants, going back to when LA was first settled. The ground we're on today was where the original Chinatown was located.”

“Not over on Broadway?”

“No, that came later.” Phil cleared his throat and looked into her eyes. “You really have a remarkable talent, Emma. A remarkable, real, and terrifying talent.”

“Tell me, Phil.” She stared back at him. “Tell me right now what I saw.”

He patted her hand, but didn't let go of it. “In 1871, the Chinese Massacre took place on this spot.”

Emma sat up straight. “A massacre?”

He nodded. “A very large mob of white men rioted and attacked Chinatown, beating and torturing people, ending with the lynching of eighteen Chinese.”

Emma's mouth hung open. “Right here?”

“Pretty much here and the immediate vicinity.”

“But why?”

“According to historical accounts,” he explained, “it started when a white rancher was killed during fighting between two Chinese factions.”

“Gangs, even then,” said Emma with sadness.

“Yep.” He squeezed her hand tighter. “But that was then and you are here now. I know you can't always control these trances; I just hope they don't become frequent. It worries me to no end.”

The color had returned to Emma's cheeks, and she felt less drained. “Trust me, Phil, I wish what I had sensed had something to do with the Ricardos. In the past these episodes did have something to do with the matter at hand. Maybe the tragedy of the place was just so strong it engulfed me.” She took another drink of water. “I'll have to tell Milo about this and see what he thinks.”

“Good idea.” Phil held out his hand for the water. Emma handed it to him and he took his own long drink. They sat there side by side in silence for several minutes before Phil asked, “How are you feeling now? Still feeling crushed?”

“No. I'm feeling quite myself now.” To confirm her words, she gave him a soft, tender kiss. “I'm sorry if I frightened you, Phil.”

“Not the first time,” he answered, then laughed softly. “And I'm sure it won't be the last.” He patted her hand. “You still in the mood for lunch or should we head home?”

“A little lunch would perk me up.” To add support to her words, she got to her feet and looked up at the ceiling of the waiting room, taking note of the inlaid wood beams and ornate metal chandeliers. “So much beauty built on top of such horror and ugliness.”

Phil stood up beside her. “Much of this city was built on violence, and even today supposedly innocent people like Felix Ricardo can get caught in the crosshairs.”

Once they were seated at a table in Traxx and handed menus, Emma asked, “Phil, why did you describe Felix Ricardo as
supposedly innocent
?”

Phil lowered his menu and looked over the top of his reading glasses at her. “Just keeping the options open for other possibilities. Just because he may have been murdered doesn't mean he wasn't involved with something shady that got him killed and put his family in jeopardy.”

Emma closed her menu and placed it on the table. “You're right, Phil. I hadn't thought of that.”

“No, but I'm sure you would have in short order.” Phil tossed her a wink and went back to reading his menu. “See anything you like?”

“The quinoa stew,” Emma said.

“You want to split the beet salad?” he asked.

“Sure,” she answered without thinking, her mind now focused more on the other possibilities Phil had raised instead of her stomach.

When the waiter returned with their iced tea order and some bread, Phil ordered the quinoa stew for Emma, the chicken posole for himself, and one beet salad. “I'm not saying Felix was crooked, but something got him killed,” Phil continued after the waiter left with their orders. “And it sounds from what you told me that it might have something to do with that sale.”

Emma nodded as she took a drink of her tea. “I just hate the way I left it with Rikki. I don't feel right about having to defend myself, but I also don't want to walk away from this if she's in any real danger.”

Phil reached over and took Emma's hand. “Give her a bit of time to think it over. She does believe her father was there. That's half the battle. I'm sure she'll be mulling over how he died now, too. You can't force her to listen to you.”

“I know you're right.” Emma squeezed his hand. “Let's have a lovely lunch, look over this incredible building, then head home. How about taking in an early movie later? We haven't done that in a long time.”

“Sounds good, but will walking around here bother you? You know, the spirits and all.”

“I honestly don't know,” she told him, her own voice unsure, “but on the way back to the parking lot I'd like to walk around the plaza more.”

“There's a small plaque posted nearby memorializing the massacre. Would you like to see it?”

“Yes,” Emma told him. “I would like to see that, but you may have to keep an eye on me.”

He squeezed her hand before letting it go. “Don't I always?”

After lunch the two of them walked around Union Station, taking in the graceful architecture and design. Leaving there, they crossed Alameda and turned left on Los Angeles Street until they came to the Chinese American Museum and the plaque about the massacre in front of it. Emma bent and touched the bronze plaque, which was hot from exposure to the sun. Once again she felt the presence of horror and death, but not crushing like before.

“You okay, Emma?” Phil asked with concern.

She stood up and smiled, not at him but at the plaque. “Yes. I'm fine. I think earlier they just wanted me to know they were here.”

“The museum is quite interesting; would you like to go in?”

She nodded and together they entered. After the museum, they strolled arm in arm around Los Angeles Plaza Park. Phil bought them each frozen juice bars from a vending cart, and they sat on a park bench facing the entrance to Olvera Street to enjoy them.

“You're still bothered by what happened with Rikki, aren't you?” Phil asked.

“Not really,” Emma answered.

“Come on,” Phil said, giving her a small nudge. “You haven't taken your eyes off the entrance to that street since we sat down. Are you hoping to see Felix or someone living?”

“Okay,” she confessed. “I am bothered by it. I wish Felix would say more about why he wants Rikki to agree to the sale. As it is now, it's just him ordering her to do it and her digging in her heels against it, swearing Felix would never say that. If I could give Rikki a solid reason from her father, it might clarify things.”

“Aren't you two a couple of cozy old farts,” said a familiar voice coming out of thin air.