Gem of a Ghost: A Ghost of Granny Apples Mystery (5 page)

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.”