Ghost of a Gamble (Granny Apples Mystery) (15 page)

“Any sign of Lenny there at the house?” asked Quinn.

“Nothing,” Milo told them. “But Nemo showed up.”

“He did?” Emma had just taken a drink of her iced coffee and nearly choked.

“Yes, about an hour ago, but it was just for a minute,” Milo reported. “He wanted to know if we were making any progress and said we were running out of time. He also asked where you were, Emma.”

“Aww,” said Quinn with a smirk. “He’s got a crush on you.”

“I’m just thankful,” said Emma with relief, “that he didn’t hone in on us at the rest home.”

“Did Nemo give you any indication of a deadline?” asked Quinn.

“No,” answered Milo. “He just said we were running out of time.”

“Keep trying to locate Lenny, Milo,” Emma encouraged. “Appeal to his affection for Dolly. Let him know you know you’re his son and you need his help to find her.” She paused. “How about Granny, any sign of her?”

“Nothing lately.”

“Milo,” Emma said into the phone, “let’s you and I concentrate on trying to contact both Granny and Lenny. I want to see how Granny’s doing with things. I know she’ll check in if she finds something, but I also want to ask her about Gene Garby. She might have noticed him last night.”

“What about the detectives?” asked Quinn. “I think one of us should contact them. Maybe tackle Foster first, since he seems the least antagonistic.”

“I have a question,” said Tracy. “If Foster is related to the casino people, do you think he might have come to Las Vegas to find that money? I mean he might have heard stories all his life about the missing money, so why not look for it?”

Emma sighed. “We have two detectives and we probably can’t trust either of them, at least for now. Maybe I’ll call Foster and just sound him out. Meanwhile, you try to contact Lenny and Granny.”

“Will do,” answered Milo.

“I
REALLY
want to find that Frankie,” Emma said, going to work on her iPad.

“What are you looking for?” Quinn asked. He pulled into the parking lot of a grocery store and parked at the far end and left the engine running.

“It’s an online people search engine. I’m going to see if there’s an address for him.” A few minutes later, she located something that looked promising. She pulled a credit card out of her wallet and punched the numbers into the purchase area. “It gave me a couple of listings.”

“Where are you going to print them?”

“They’ll pop up here, but will also be sent to my e-mail account. The accuracy will depend on whether or not he’s moved around a lot.”

Just as Emma was reviewing the two addresses provided for Frankie Varga, her cell phone rang. She answered. After the initial greeting, Emma listened to the caller and asked for an address. While on the call, she punched the address she was given into the SUV’s GPS. When the call ended, she said to Quinn, “Head to that address.” She picked up her iced coffee and sucked down a third of it without realizing it.

Following orders, Quinn put the SUV in gear and pulled out of the parking lot. “Who was that? You hardly said a word on the call, but you’re about to suck an entire coffee, plastic cup and all, through that straw.”

“That was Gloria Youngblood, the woman at the reception desk at Desert Sun. She said she wants to talk, but we need to come right this minute. It just might be the break we need.”

“That’s not the address for the rest home.”

“It’s a restaurant. She said she’d be there, but only for the next fifteen to twenty minutes.”

They burned up ten minutes of Gloria’s time getting to the address she’d given Emma—a hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant not far from the rest home. The restaurant was long and dark, its front windows painted over with fading and scratched pictures of desert scenery—the sort of place only locals would go to and even then only those who knew the owner. Emma and Quinn walked in and let their eyes adjust before looking around for Gloria. They located her in a booth at the back by the kitchen. Without a word, Emma slid across red cracked vinyl and faced Gloria. Quinn slid in next to Emma.

“I don’t have much time,” Gloria said in a rush of words. Her glasses were pushed high on her nose and sweat beaded on her upper lip. In front of her was a half cup of black coffee in a thick, heavy mug. From the kitchen came the smell of hot lard, corn tortillas, and braised meat. An old woman, her doughy body wrapped in a dirty flowered apron, approached the table, refilled Gloria’s coffee, and stood ready to take their orders. Gloria waved her away with a half smile and a few words in Spanish.

“Why’d you call, Gloria?” Emma asked as soon as the woman left the table.

“You were right,” Gloria started. “Gene Garby and that detective are related. I think they are brothers.”

“You could have told me that over the phone.” Emma paused. “Unless there’s more.”

“Much more.” Gloria’s eyes darted around the dark restaurant, which was empty except for one table near the front door occupied by an old man eating and reading a newspaper.

“What about Frankie?” Quinn prodded. “We heard someone was paying him to take special care of Nemo Morehouse.”

“Yes,” Gloria confirmed.

“We also heard that you were almost fired when you complained about Frankie.”

Gloria nodded. “Now I keep my mouth shut to keep my job.”

“So why are you talking to us?” Emma asked.

“I don’t want that lady hurt—the one you’re looking for. They said she killed Mr. Morehouse, but I don’t believe it.”

Emma sat up straight, her whole body on edge with both caffeine and adrenaline. “Who do you think killed him?”

“Frankie. Frankie Varga killed Mr. Morehouse. Mr. Garby paid him to do it.” Gloria tapped the side of her head, by her right eye, with an index finger. “I know. I saw money change hands and heard them speak. They were in the big supply closet just before the shift change. I was in there, too. I’d made a call, a private call about another job. They came in right when I finished and didn’t know I was in the back listening.”

“When was this?” asked Emma.

“A couple of days ago.” Gloria shifted in her seat and looked into her coffee.

Emma waited until Gloria made eye contact again. “Who claimed Nemo’s body?”

Gloria shrugged. “It was picked up by a local mortuary is all I know.”

Emma sensed Gloria knew a lot more than that. “What about Nemo’s family? Weren’t they notified? Do you know where we can find them?”

Gloria glanced at her watch. It had a big easy-to-read face and was strapped to her wrist by a thick red vinyl strap. “I have to go.” She started to say something else, but changed her mind and began to slide out of the booth. “I’ve said too much. Please don’t leave right after me,” she begged. Fear, hot and dry, wafted off her, mingling with the cooking smells. “I don’t want anyone to see us together.”

Emma reached across the table and put a hand on Gloria’s arm, stopping her. “Then tell me this. We’re trying to find Frankie Varga. I have two possible addresses—one on Gowan Street and one on Walnut. Do you know which is his current address?” When Gloria hesitated, Emma added, “It could mean life or death to Dolly Meskiel.”

“Last I heard, he lived on Walnut.” She slipped out of the booth and headed for the door. Right before exiting the restaurant, Gloria turned on her heel and slipped back to the booth. She leaned down and whispered in a torrent, “Mr. Garby, he killed his own father.”

Without giving Emma and Quinn a chance to respond, Gloria Youngblood crossed herself and ran out of the restaurant on rubber-soled shoes that squeaked on the old scarred linoleum.

Stunned, Emma and Quinn sat in the booth for a full minute after Gloria’s departure without saying a word. Finally, Quinn said, “Did she just say what I think she said?”

Emma nodded. “That Gene Garby had Nemo Morehouse killed and that Nemo is Garby’s father. At least that’s what I heard.”

“Wow. Didn’t see that coming, did you?”

“Not for a second,” Emma admitted. “I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut.” Emma took a deep breath and exhaled. A crumpled paper napkin on Gloria’s side of the table wiggled from the draft. “That means . . .” She paused, sensing Quinn was thinking the same thing, but saying it out loud would make it true and solid, like set concrete, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to go there even though she knew she had to make the trip.

Quinn finished the thought, “That Nemo is Detective Garby’s father, too.” He slid out of the booth, reached into his pocket, and pulled out some cash. He tossed a five-dollar bill onto the table. “We’ve got work to do.” He held out a hand to Emma. She took it and let him help her out of the booth.

• • •

“THAT’S RIGHT, MILO,”
Emma said, her cell phone on speaker once again. “Don’t speak to the police about anything until we sort this all out. Who knows how much Detective Garby is involved. We need to confirm what we were just told. We need to find out if Nemo had sons, and if so, are they the Garbys.”

“We can research that,” said Tracy. “If there are records and references online, we’ll find them.”

“Too bad we can’t ask Foster,” quipped Quinn. “Isn’t that his hobby?”

Emma nodded in agreement. “If I can think of a tactful way to broach it with him, I will, but we still have to be careful about Foster’s personal motives. And finding Dolly is still our first priority.”

“Do you think Foster even knows?” asked Tracy.

“That’s a good question,” said Quinn, “but considering who he is and how much interest he has in old Vegas, we should work on the assumption he does.”

“In the meantime,” said Emma, punching the Walnut address into the GPS while she talked, “we’re off to track down Frankie Varga.”

“By the way, guys,” Milo said. “Unless something major breaks, we’re going to swing by Madeline’s nephew’s house tonight and pay our respects. But we’ll let you know if we learn anything about the Garby brothers before we go.”

“And we’ll text you if we learn anything,” Emma assured him.

T
HE
address on Walnut took them to a tidy two-level apartment complex the color of dry clay. The complex consisted of three small buildings, huddled together in a U-shape, with all apartments facing a large courtyard with a pool.

After parking the SUV curbside, Emma and Quinn proceeded to Unit 103. It was downstairs at the far end of the building on the left side of the pool area. They knocked several times but got no answer. Quinn tried to peer through the window, but the blinds were drawn.

“You looking for Frankie?” asked a grizzly guy cleaning the pool with a long-handled net. He was wearing cutoff jeans and a white tank top, his long brown hair secured into a ponytail. A half-smoked cigarette dangled precariously from one corner of his mouth.

“Yes,” answered Quinn. “Do you know where we can find him? It’s important.” Quinn noticed two young women sunbathing nude on chaises on the far side of the pool. He did a double take followed by a quick recovery. Emma grinned and elbowed him.

“Funny thing,” the guy said, scratching his narrow chest through his sweat-soaked T-shirt, “hardly a peep out of the guy for two years, now everyone’s looking for him.”

Quinn looked around. “You the manager here?”

“Yep. Been here a long time—manager, handyman, cleaning crew, security—you name it, I do it. I’ve even pulled cats out of trees and wrangled drunk boyfriends for tenants.” He took a drag off the cigarette and blew the smoke in the opposite direction. “Don’t tell me Frankie’s one of those serial killers. You know, one of those weird little guys who keeps body parts in a storage locker somewhere.” He shook his head and took another drag of tobacco. “Didn’t seem the type, but you never know. It’s always the quiet ones.”

“Who else is looking for Frankie?” asked Quinn.

“The cops. But you two don’t look like no police.” When he stepped closer, Quinn and Emma caught the scent of stale booze, rank and sour, possibly from the night before.

Emma tried not to wrinkle her nose when answering. “No, we’re not. We just need to find him.”

The guy went back to trolling for debris in the water. “Well, good luck with that. Like I told the cops, Frankie moved out a couple of days ago. Said he was taking some time off work and moving in with friends for a while.” The guy coughed and took another drag of his cigarette.

The two women got up from the chaises and wrapped towels around themselves. They waved at the guy. “Catch you later, Wyatt,” they called to him before disappearing into one of the apartments on two sets of impossibly long legs.

“Exotic dancers,” Wyatt explained. “They like that all-over tan so I let them go bare-assed, as long as it’s not on the weekend when most tenants are home. Not that I’m complaining.” He winked at Quinn.

“Did Frankie say where he was going?” Emma tried hard not to roll her eyes—a habit of both Kelly and Granny that she disliked.

“Nope. When I asked him where I should send his deposit refund, he told me to keep it. Called it
chump change
.” The guy stopped working and looked at them. “Who knows, maybe he hit it big in one of the casinos.”

“How about a girlfriend?” asked Quinn. “Or a boyfriend?”

“I saw one girl with him from time to time, but not recently. Maybe he moved in with her.”

“Do you remember anything about the girl?” Quinn prodded.

“Not really. They were mostly going in and out, and his apartment is close to the parking in the back so it was just the odd glimpse. I just remember she was always covered up.” He winked at Quinn again. “I mean, with the eye candy around here, what’s the point in paying attention to that, right?”

Emma wasn’t ready to give up. “When you rented to Frankie, did you get an emergency contact?”

“Maybe.” Wyatt snuffed his cigarette butt out against a nearby trashcan while he looked them over, coming to a decision. “Only thing I remember was it was a guy’s name. The address was in Dolan Springs.”

“Where’s Dolan Springs?” asked Quinn.

“Arizona. Just over an hour and a half from here, out in the middle of nowhere.”

Emma and Quinn exchanged a look before Quinn asked, “Do you remember what the police looked like who questioned you?”

“Two detectives. A young one, clean cut, and an older one. The older one was kind of thick and cranky. I have the young one’s card in my place if you want me to get it.”

“That’s okay, but thank you,” said Emma. “You’ve been very helpful.” She reached into her purse, pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, and held it out to Wyatt. “We were never here. Understand? To the police or to anyone.”

Wyatt didn’t take the money. He looked at it, then at Emma, sizing her up. “I never told the detectives about Dolan Springs,” he said. “I don’t like cops. They’re not very
appreciative
.”

Emma got out two more twenties and held the sixty dollars out to him. This time he took the money.

“You two thinking of driving out to Dolan Springs?” Wyatt folded the cash and stuck it in one of his pockets.

“Maybe,” answered Quinn.

“A bit of advice. Free advice. Don’t go looking so fresh faced and fancy. They don’t like strangers, especially that kind. And don’t go at night. No streetlights. Easy to get lost or step on a rattler. Or be taken for an intruder. A lot of folks out that way answer their door with a shotgun in hand.”

“Boy,” said Quinn with a chuckle as they climbed back into the SUV. “I got off cheap with that fiver I left the waitress. Good thing that clown didn’t know who you were—he might have held out for a few hundred.”

“The price of doing business.” Emma buckled up.

“So where to?”

Emma rubbed her eyes. “I’ve been here less than forty-eight hours and feel like I’ve been here a month.”

“Maybe we should call it a night. We can’t go running out to Dolan Springs tonight. It will be dark before we get there and I’m prone to listen to ole Wyatt’s warning.”

“I agree with you. Especially since it’s just a contact lead. I can put the last name of Varga into the search engine and see if anyone by that name pops up in Dolan Springs. If we get a phone number, we can give it a call. Who knows?” She put her hands on her thighs and rubbed them back and forth. “Let’s go back to my hotel and see if Granny or Lenny shows up.”

“What about dinner?” Quinn asked as he pulled away from the curb. “What would you like?”

“Room service, served while I soak in the tub.”

“I could arrange that.” He flashed her a grin.

She laughed. “And an early bedtime.”

“How about we order room service,” he suggested, “and eat while we go over our notes, then I’ll head to my hotel so you can get that bath and some rest. We can meet up again in the morning.”

“Sounds like a plan, but not too early for breakfast. I want to get down to the gym first thing. I feel so logy and tense, and a workout should help. I also do some of my best thinking while on the elliptical.”

“Whatever you want, Emma. Consider me your guy Friday.”

Emma looked up at the roof of the SUV. “You hear that, Lenny and anyone else who’s listening? If you’ve got something to say tonight, say it early or it’ll have to wait.”

“Does that go for me, too?” asked the spirit in the backseat.

For once, Emma didn’t jump. She was too tired. “Granny, I’m so glad you popped in. It’s been a very busy day. We’re on our way back to my hotel.”

“Glad yours was exciting. Mostly mine was dull as dirt,” the ghost reported. “Except for one thing, which I came to tell you.”

“Hi, Granny,” Quinn said, looking in the rearview mirror at nothing.

“Hey, Indiana,” Granny said with a smile. She turned to Emma. “Nice chauffer you’ve got.”

“So what was that one thing, Granny?” Emma asked, her patience worn thin.

“Just now I finally figured out why the young guy holding Dolly looks familiar. I think he’s the same guy who was taking care of Nemo at the old folks home.”

With a surge of energy, Emma whipped her head around. “You mean he’s Frankie Varga?”

Quinn went on alert. “What’s going on?”

“Are you sure, Granny?” Emma asked.

“Not a hundred percent, but I think it’s likely. He looks kind of the same, but he doesn’t have his uniform on. I was hoping someone would call him by name, but he’s been alone with Dolly most of the day. When he gave her medicine, that’s when it clicked for me.”

“He drugged her?”

“Yeah, not too long ago. He gave her something to calm her down and help her sleep. There was a report about Dolly being missing on the news tonight. She watched it and started crying. About broke my heart. That’s when he gave her something. It looks like he’s settled in for the night. He was eating pizza and drinking a beer when I left. And by the way, he has a gun. First time I’ve seen one at the place, but he was armed tonight.”

“What about Laura?”

“I’m not sure what happened to her. I saw her this morning, but when I went back after talking to you today, she was gone. Nemo didn’t pop in later today either. Only the one I think might be Frankie was at the place watching Dolly.”

Emma gave Granny’s report to Quinn, then said, “I wonder if Laura is off with Nemo trying to find Lenny. Milo said Nemo popped in at Dolly’s house, but only for a few minutes.”

While they drove back to the Strip, Emma filled Granny in on the day’s findings.

“Wow,” Granny said, her eyes wide. “You did have a big day and I missed it. Next time send a different ghost to look after Dolly and I’ll come with you.”

“Granny, do you remember seeing anyone else with Nemo that night at the rest home?”

The ghost gave it some thought. “I remember seeing someone who could be that Garby man. At least a man in a suit kept looking in on Nemo during Dolly’s visit, but I didn’t know who he was. And now that you mention it, he and that surly detective do look a lot alike. Are you sure they’re related to Nemo?”

“As you would say, not a hundred percent. But it’s likely.” Emma gave Quinn a quick summary of Granny’s comments.

Granny narrowed her eyes. “That’s pretty evil, killing off your own father then trying to pin it on an old woman.”

“I agree, Granny. But I’m also wondering if that’s part of the plan. Nemo was getting pretty weak. Maybe he planned his death with his son so he could come back as a spirit and track Lenny down.”

Quinn glanced over at Emma. “You mean since he was dying anyway, he did it on his terms and with a master plan?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m getting at.”

Granny wasn’t so sure. “I’ve never heard of a spirit doing that before, have you?”

“No, Granny, I haven’t, but as time goes on, I’m learning a lot more about spirits than I expected. It’s pretty diabolical and the whole thing hinges on finding a medium to assist with the negotiations. Without that, there would be no way for Nemo to communicate with his son after he died.”

“Or sons,” added Quinn.

Emma looked over the seat at Granny. “You still don’t know where Dolly is?”

The ghost shook her head. “I even did some surveillance. After Dolly fell asleep, the kid went out to get his pizza. I followed him. It only took him a few minutes because it was so close, but I wasn’t able to see any street signs or much of anything except a bunch of homes and small businesses stuck in the desert. Even the pizza joint was all by itself, not bunched up with other businesses like at home.” Granny laughed. “I’m telling ya, Julian is a busy metropolis compared to this place. Oh,” added Granny, “the kid drives a black pickup truck. One of those small ones.”

Emma turned to Quinn. “According to Granny, Frankie Varga is driving a compact black truck. We totally forgot to ask Wyatt what he drove.”

“Great job, Granny,” Quinn said to the ghost. “Glad you were on your toes with that since we weren’t.”

The ghost grinned, soaking in the appreciation.

“Yes, Granny,” Emma agreed, “that’s a big help. You didn’t notice a sign on the pizza place while you were at it, did you?”

The spirit gave it considerable thought before answering. “It was very short, like just two initials. Nothing fancy. I’ll keep trying to remember.”

“How about the name
Dolan Springs
?” asked Quinn. “Does that ring a bell?”

Granny mulled the name over. “Nope, nothing like that.”

Emma shook her head at Quinn, then turned back to Granny. “In the meantime, Granny, could you try to locate Lenny? Milo has been trying and hasn’t been successful. If he wants to help us save Dolly, he needs to show up and now.”

The diminutive ghost saluted. “You got it, Chief.”