Granny Apples 05 - Ghost in the Guacamole (12 page)

“What are you two talking about?” asked Granny. “Aren't we here to do surveillance on that Bullock guy?”

Emma picked up her margarita, which was served in a glass with a saguaro cactus stem. She took a drink. It was delicious so she took another, then answered carefully, “Yes, Granny, but there's a man at the bar who we think can see and hear you. He might also be watching Steve Bullock. We're not sure.”

“It's the older guy with the very short gray hair,” Phil said quietly right before taking a bite of chip and guacamole.

Granny turned around and studied the people at the bar. Most were men having a quick solo lunch. Before Emma could stop her, she took off, heading straight for the man in question.

“Uh-oh,” Emma said.

“She's going over there, isn't she?” asked Phil. “I don't even have to see her to know it. It's typical of her. Not to mention, his eyes just got as big as the TV.”

Emma got up and moved to Phil's side of the table, sliding in next to him. “Bullock will have to wait,” she whispered to Phil. “I have to see this.”

Phil leaned into her. “I can't tell you how jealous I am that you get to see it firsthand.”

Emma patted his hand. “Don't worry, sweetheart, I'll give you a play-by-play.”

As Granny reached the man at the bar, he turned away and took a sip of beer as if nothing were there.

“So,” Granny said to him, “how's it hanging?” The man started coughing and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, but did not make eye contact with the ghost.

Emma told Phil, who raised his beer and said into Emma's ear, “Now he knows what we go through. How soon do you think before he'll break and communicate with her?”

“Hard to say,” Emma whispered back. “Depends on how long he's been doing this and how persistent she is.”

“My money's on Granny,” Phil told Emma with a grin. “Seasoned or not, she'll crack him like a soft-boiled egg and soon.”

“My friends and I want to know,” Granny continued, speaking loud enough for her voice to carry back to their table, “if you're just watching us or if you're watching that Bullock guy, too.”

The man looked at Granny then through her at Phil and Emma, studying them a few seconds. They stared back. The man took a sip of his beer and moved his eyes toward Bullock's table, studying it with the same even deliberation. He took a bigger drink from his mug. Until now he'd been nursing his beer. Since Granny approached him, it was going down at a much faster pace. Holding his mug up to his lips, he said something.

“Did he just say something?” Emma asked Phil. “I could have sworn I saw his lips move right before he took his last drink.

“They did,” Phil confirmed. “Too bad we can't wire Granny.”

“He just asked me why we're so interested in Bullock,” Granny called over to them. The spirit turned back to the man and jerked a hazy thumb back at Phil and Emma. “We're on a case,” she told him. Back at the table, Emma groaned. “That's Emma Whitecastle, the world-famous medium, and her man, Phil, a world-famous tax attorney,” Granny continued.

After Emma told Phil what Granny had said, both of them took long drinks of their own, after which Emma asked Phil, “Is there such a thing as a world-famous tax attorney?”

Phil wiped his mouth and mustache with a paper napkin. “I guess there is now.”

Granny turned around to them. “He says he knows who you are, Emma. Sorry, Phil, but he doesn't seem to reckon you.”

Without looking at Granny or them, the man drained his beer and ordered another. When it arrived, he slipped off his bar stool and headed their way, fresh frosty mug in hand. When he got to their table, he looked down at them, taking stock, holding his strong wiry body erect with disciplined posture. Before anything was said, their food arrived, served up by the busboy. Without waiting for an invitation, the man slipped into the side of the booth Emma had vacated.

“Sorry,” Granny said after following him over. “He got away from me.”

“Dig in, folks,” he told them. “Don't let it get cold on my account.” His voice was mostly even with a few rough patches, like speed bumps on his vocal chords.

“You have us at a disadvantage,” Phil told him politely but with a firmness that promised they would not be easy prey. “You know who we are, but we don't have a clue about you except that you can see and hear ghosts. Oh, and by the way, the cheeky spirit with us is Ish Reynolds. Most call her Granny.”

A slow smile oozed across his face before the man answered. Raising his beer mug to them in salute, he said, “Name's Jeremiah Jones. Most call me Jeremiah.”

J
EREMIAH
Jones was an African-American man with a well-worn face and salt-and-pepper stubble on both his head and his chin. He took stock of Emma and Phil through dark gray eyes. “Go on now, have your lunch. We can get to know each other while you eat.”

Emma was the first to pick up her fork. She started assembling her grilled vegetables on a tortilla, along with salsa and guacamole, rolled it, and took a bite. She was into her second bite before Phil decided it was okay to let down his guard and tackle his fish tacos. Emma dabbed at her mouth with a napkin and said to Jeremiah, “So how long have you been a medium?”

“There'll be time enough to discuss that later,” Jeremiah told her in a low voice. “What do you want with Steve Bullock?” He grabbed a chip from the basket, scooped up a liberal amount of guacamole with it, and popped it into his mouth whole.

Phil swallowed the bite he was working on before answering. “You on his payroll?”

Jeremiah leaned back against the booth and laughed. Just then Brenda Ann approached the table, “Everything good here?” she asked. Phil and Emma nodded. She turned to Jeremiah and gave him a quick peck on his cheek. “Good seeing you, Jeremiah. I saw you at the bar earlier but I've been too busy to even say hello. Are these nice people friends of yours?”

“Yeah, Brenda Ann, they are. This is Phil and Emma.” He turned to them, “And this lovely lady is Brenda Ann Norris.” Arching back, Jeremiah reached into a pocket of his jeans and pulled out some cash. Lifting up Brenda Ann's left hand, he discreetly stuffed some money into it. “If anyone asks about these two,” he said, changing to a whisper, “you tell them they're friends of mine who came in to meet up with me. Got it?”

She started to protest, “You don't need to pay me to do that.”

Jeremiah pressed the money on her more firmly, returning to a normal voice. “Then take those little girls of yours out for ice cream. And say hi to your mom and dad for me while you're at it. Oh, and could you bring me a couple of those fish tacos?” He pointed at Phil's plate. “They look great.”

Brenda Ann nodded, sticking the money into her pants pocket as she left.

“I lived next door to her family about a hundred years ago,” Jeremiah said by way of explanation. “Nice people.”

“Do we need a reason to be here,” asked Granny, “other than our real reason?” She was hovering next to Jeremiah, giving him a thorough examination.

“It's just a precaution,” Jeremiah answered. He looked over at Phil. “Can you see this old woman here, or is it just Emma and me?”

“Old woman!” snapped Granny. “I'm younger than you, you old coot.”

“Feisty little thing, aren't you?” Jeremiah said to the ghost. “He turned back to Emma and Phil. “She always like this?”

“Pretty much,” answered Emma. “And to answer your question, no, Phil cannot see or hear spirits.”

“The old—” Jeremiah began, then stopped and rechose his words. “This charming lady in the covered wagon outfit said you're working on a case.” His voice had shifted back into a conspiratorial tone.

“Call me, Granny,” snipped the ghost, crossing her arms in front of her.

Jeremiah smiled at the ghost. “You got it, Granny.” He turned to Phil and Emma, catching them tossing glances at each other. “Seems you have some trust issues,” he said to them. “Then how about I use the secret password?”

“Secret password?” asked Emma, looking at him with suspicion.

Brenda Ann showed up with Jeremiah's food. He fell upon it immediately, slathering salsa over everything, while Phil and Emma picked at their lunch and kept watch on him.

“Granny,” Emma said to the ghost. “Let us know if something changes with that booth over there, like if someone joins him.”

“You got it, Chief.” Granny drifted back over to Bullock's booth.

Jeremiah chuckled through a mouthful of food. He swallowed. “I've never met any ghost with such an attitude, or with so much focus. They're usually kind of fuzzy.”

“She's a pistol, even when you can't see or hear her,” Phil told him.

When Jeremiah was almost done with his first taco, he said without looking up, “Read any good Gino Costello books lately?”

Phil nearly dropped his fork. Emma sloshed what was left of her margarita.

“Gino sent you?” asked Phil, recovering from the surprise.

“No, but he called me early this morning.” Jeremiah scooped some rice and beans into his mouth, chewed slowly, and swallowed. “He said friends of his were looking to ID a guy in a grainy photo.”

“So you're his gang contact?” Emma asked, leaning forward so she wouldn't be overheard.

“Used to be,” Jeremiah admitted with a half smile. “I'm retired LAPD. Now I'm a part-time PI.”

“I knew you had to be an ex-cop,” Phil said with satisfaction. “So is Bullock under investigation?”

“I don't know of anything active,” admitted Jeremiah. “He's thought to be kind of shady but nothing anyone can stick to him. I was really surprised to see his face on that photo Gino sent me. So I told Gino where his friends could find Bullock and came here to see who turned up.”

“But what if we didn't?” asked Emma. She played with the stem of her glass, rolling it between her fingers as she ran a million questions around in her mind.

Jeremiah shrugged. “Then I'd have come back here tomorrow and the next day and all next week. I'm a semi-regular, which is why I knew where Bullock would be. No one would have suspected anything seeing my face here for lunch day after day. My gut told me that whoever Gino was helping would eventually show up.” He laughed low. “My gut instincts are usually never wrong, but they were totally blindsided when a ghost showed up with Emma Whitecastle in tow.” He paused. “How do you even know Gino? To my knowledge, he thinks paranormal activities are a bunch of BS.”

“Our daughters are friends back in Boston,” Emma explained. “Have you ever told Gino about your abilities?”

Jeremiah pursed his lips and looked off in the direction of Steve Bullock's table, where Granny was standing vigil. “Until now, no one else has ever known about this, not even my late wife.”

“No one?” asked Phil with surprise.

“No one,” emphasized Jeremiah. “It first started up when I was in the service in Nam. Just here and there, mostly dead buddies coming back. I thought at first it was just the stress of seeing all that death. Then it died out for many years and started up again after I was on the job for a while. Came in handy from time to time, though I never let on to anyone about it. But the spirits I met were not as communicative as your Granny there.” He looked at Emma. “Is she really a relation or do you just call her that?”

“She's my great-great-great-grandmother,” Emma told him. “On my mother's side.”

Jeremiah looked again over toward Bullock's booth. “Someone like her would be a great advantage in police work.” He looked at Emma and grinned. “Where in the world did she pick up the slang and street talk?”

“She watches a lot of TV, especially old crime dramas,” Emma explained. Jeremiah shook his head and took a long pull from his mug.

“It looked to us like Bullock was expecting company,” Phil said. “Or does he eat alone?”

“A bit of both. He seems to have a lady friend these days. At least he lunches here with her about twice a week. Pretty Latina. Big curvy girl always in a fancy suit like him.”

“That sounds like Lucy Ricardo,” Emma said to Phil. She looked to Jeremiah. “Do you know the Ricardo family? The ones who own Roble Foods?”

He shrugged. “I'd met Felix Ricardo a few times when a bunch of us got together for dinner on Olvera Street. I'd heard he died last year. Too bad. Seemed like a good guy—big on supporting his community and people in public service.”

“Yes,” Phil answered. “Supposedly he died from a heart attack.”

Jeremiah's eyes bored into Phil's. “
Supposedly
is a loaded word in my world. It's like tacking on:
but I don't believe it
.”

Phil and Emma exchanged glances again.

“Would you like me to step out of the room while you two confer?” Jeremiah asked, his voice thick with sarcasm.

In response, Emma pulled out her phone and took a quick photo of Jeremiah, then started texting something.

“You sending that off to Gino?” Jeremiah chuckled.

“Yes,” Emma answered. “I'm sorry if it's offensive, but we don't know you from a hole in the ground, even if you do know Gino.” Done, Emma put the phone on the table between her and Phil.

“She has a point,” added Phil. “Just because Gino asked you to identify someone doesn't mean we should trust you.”

“Gino could be anywhere doing anything,” Jeremiah pointed out. He glanced over to Bullock's booth. “Meanwhile it looks like Bullock's lunch date has arrived.”

Almost as soon as he said it, Granny popped up next to the table. “Lucy's here,” she announced. “You know, Rikki's crazy sister.”

Emma scooted deeper into the booth closer to Phil to make sure Lucy didn't see her. She didn't want a scene and Lucy would be sure to make one. As she resettled, her phone vibrated. She read the message reply from Gino Costello, happy that it had arrived so quickly. She showed it to Phil. It read,
I'd trust Jeremiah Jones with my life but not with a jar of p-nut butter.—GC

Phil looked across the table at Jeremiah. “You have a peanut butter problem? Aren't there twelve-step programs for that?”

Jeremiah laughed, showing large teeth the color of antique lace. “I'm horribly allergic to peanuts. Gino didn't know that and cooked something with peanut oil one night when I was visiting him in Chicago. We spent the rest of the night in the ER.”

Next to the table, Granny fidgeted. “Are we gonna do something about that over there?”

“Hang on, Granny,” Jeremiah told her. “Let the lady get settled, and Emma, get me up to speed.”

Leaning forward and keeping her voice low, Emma quickly filled Jeremiah in on what had recently happened, including the encounter with the ghost of Felix Ricardo.

“Don't forget about the big fight I saw between Rikki and Hector,” Granny added.

“Let me get this straight,” Jeremiah said when Granny and Emma were finished. “The ghost of Felix wants them to sell and so does the woman over there with Bullock, but the younger daughter doesn't want to sell. And you don't think Felix died accidentally, as everyone else thinks, because of something he said to you?”

“Correct,” said Phil. “He's told Emma several times that if Rikki doesn't sell, she'll be in danger and might end up like him.”

“Any other proof to believe he died by someone else's hand?” the ex-cop asked.

“No,” answered Emma. “And Felix hasn't said that directly or pointed to anyone specifically. But I've found that sometimes spirits don't know exactly what happened to them.”

Jeremiah rubbed his face, producing a scratchy sound. “Yeah, I've experienced the same thing. He also might not want to stir up any more trouble for his daughters by telling you who it is. It might be someone close to them. Close enough to hurt them.” Jeremiah jerked his chin. “So how does Bullock play into this other than wanting to buy Roble?”

“The photos Gino showed you were taken while Steve Bullock was handing off a wad of cash to one of the waiters at Roble,” Phil explained. “It was done behind a stand of trees away from the restaurant.”

“That is suspicious, but not against the law unless the cash was for something illegal.” Jeremiah took another sip of his beer and studied Emma. “So why don't you want that Lucy woman to see you?”

Emma took a deep breath. “The last time she saw me, she threw a fit because I was involved, and the last time her sister saw me, she ordered me to stay out of their lives.”

Jeremiah put down his mug, smiled, and spread his hands. “Yet here you are. Why?”

“I was going to walk away and mind my own business,” Emma told him.

“Yeah, right,” quipped Granny. “You never do and you never will, Emma. You got nose trouble.”

“I do not,” Emma hissed back at the ghost.

Seeing Phil looking confused, Jeremiah explained, “Granny just called Emma nosy.”

Phil grinned at the man across from him. “Actually, they both have nose trouble. I'm not sure who has it worse.” Both Granny and Emma glared at Phil.

“I gotta tell you,” Jeremiah said, shaking his head and laughing quietly, “you have certainly made my day. I'll have to send Gino a big bottle of peanut oil for this.”