Ghost of a Gamble (Granny Apples Mystery) (22 page)

Emma and Foster watched as the Jeep came up the street, then swerved to the left, heading for the pickup. At the last minute it swerved right, tires screeching, the side of the shiny vehicle clipping the pickup along its side with a loud crash that vibrated through the still warm air. Emma held her breath, sure the Jeep would tip and Phil and Quinn would be seriously hurt. But it didn’t tip—it spun fully around and came to a stop in the middle of the road.

Emma and Foster ducked behind the trailer as Lloyd and Frankie piled down the steps next to Lloyd’s car and spilled into the street.

Granny popped out next to Emma. “Lloyd has a gun, but I think Frankie left his on the kitchen table,” she reported.

Emma told Foster in a whisper, “Granny thinks only Lloyd has a gun.” He nodded his understanding.

“My truck!” screamed Frankie when he saw the damage. “My truck!”

Most of the action was taking place on the side with the carport. Foster started for that side, taking cover behind the lean-to. He motioned for Emma to go around the other side of the trailer.

She could hear Frankie screaming obscenities and Quinn’s voice raised in excitement, telling them it was an accident and he’d take care of everything. Quinn sounded drunk, but of course he wasn’t. Emma wondered where Phil was. She couldn’t make out his voice in the mix. Was he in the fray, or lying low in the Jeep, protecting Quinn from behind with Foster’s extra gun trained on one of the thugs?

“Look,” she heard Quinn say, “my friend might be hurt. I need to call an ambulance.”

Emma’s blood ran cold, not knowing if it was part of the ruse or if Phil really was injured.

“You’re not calling anyone,” she heard someone say. It must have been Lloyd.

“Come on, man,” Quinn said. Emma listened to the tone of Quinn’s voice, which was pleading but with an undertone of lazy casualness. It was definitely not his usual take-charge voice. She decided it meant Phil was okay and Quinn was playing his part. She breathed easier and continued with the plan.

Quickly and quietly, Emma went up the back steps, which were out of view of the street activity, and tried the door. Finding it unlocked, she entered and was immediately hit with a blast of cold air. She’d been right—between the TV and the AC, anyone could have snuck up on these two. The door opened to the kitchen area. Emma tiptoed deeper into the main part of the mobile home and noticed the door to the carport was located in the living room. The inside was a pigsty of takeout containers and pizza boxes, and smelled of stale food and dirty clothes. On the table, right where Granny had said it would be, was a gun—Frankie’s gun. Emma started past it then, having second thoughts, picked it up. She didn’t like guns any more than Quinn did, but she was now glad Phil had insisted that she know how to use one. Making sure the safety was on, she stuck it in her waistband. Better she have it than someone else.

Peeking out the side window, she saw the men facing off. The thin one, who she guessed was Frankie, was still screaming at Quinn, who was in the middle of the street by the turned Jeep trying to apologize. He was offering money, telling Frankie he’d take care of all the damage in cash so as not to involve his insurance company. She still couldn’t see Phil. Lloyd was at the end of the carport watching the entire drama but not participating. The only voices were coming from Frankie and Quinn. She strained to see more, being careful not to make any movements that might attract attention. Lloyd had a gun in his hand, but it was down at his side. Something caught her eye by the window. It was John Foster. He’d left the lean-to and was moving step by step toward the street, keeping low and using Lloyd’s car as cover.

“How in the hell did you get here?”

She whipped around and saw Nemo’s ghost. He was standing in the hallway, blocking her way, his hazy countenance screwed with anger.

Good
, Emma thought. Nemo doesn’t know about Foster and what’s going on outside.

“Down here, Emma.” From the end of the hall, Granny waved to her.

“It’s over, Nemo. Your scheme is finished and so are your sons.” She trotted down the hallway, passing a dirty bathroom, going through the ghost of Nemo to reach Granny.

The door to Dolly’s room was flimsy and locked using an old-fashioned hook lock fastened near the top. It was pretty rickety security, but it would hold up against an old woman. Emma unlatched the lock and opened the door. Dolly was crouched on a dirty double bed. The room was hot, with only a fan for circulation. Across from the bed was another TV. This one was turned on to a game show. Dolly looked up at Emma, but her gaze wasn’t focused.

“It’s me, Dolly, Emma Whitecastle. I’m getting you out of here. Can you get to your feet?”

“Emma,” the elderly woman finally said, clearing her head. “Thank God.”

“Stay with her, Granny. I’ll get Laura, then come back to help.”

Granny nodded and stayed next to Dolly, who was trying to get to her feet while Emma dashed to the door directly across the hall. It had the same hook lock and in seconds Emma was inside. Like Dolly’s room, it was hot with only a small fan moving the close air. Laura was sitting on the edge of a single bed, her long hair pulled back away from her damp scarred face into a ponytail. She looked up at Emma and a small smile crossed her lips. “I knew you would come. I’ve been waiting.”

Nemo stood beside the bed. “I won’t let you do this.” He made a dash at Emma but just passed through her, just as Lenny had done to him the night before. A cold chill passed through Emma, like a damp draft in her bones, but she shook it off and went to Laura.

“Come on, Laura. We have to get out of here.”

Like an obedient child, Laura got to her feet. Just as she stood, Nemo charged her, but his spirit didn’t go through Laura Crawford. It entered her and disappeared. Just as quickly Laura’s scarred face changed from sweet and obedient to defiant. “I won’t let you ruin everything,” she said, but it wasn’t Laura’s voice but the voice of Nemo Morehouse.

Laura started for the door, but Emma stopped her. “You’re not going anywhere, Nemo.”

Laura started yelling, “Lloyd, it’s a trap! The cops are here!”

Even with the AC and TV noise, Emma was worried the men outside would hear Nemo’s warning. She grabbed Laura’s arm, dragging her away from the door, and shoved her onto the bed. Quickly, Laura got to her feet and charged the older, stronger, and taller Emma, screaming as she aimed for her and the door. Emma again pushed the girl back, slapping her hard. “Come out of it, Laura. Fight him off.”

Granny came in. “What’s going on?”

“Nemo’s inside Laura, using her body. Stay with Dolly until I come for her.”

“No problem. She’s a bit dizzy and having trouble standing.” Granny disappeared to follow the order.

Again Laura charged, surprisingly strong from Nemo’s borrowed rage. She slammed Emma against the wall, knocking free the gun. Emma punched and slapped the possessed Laura, trying to knock clarity into her mind and free it from Nemo’s grasp, but the tiny medium only fought harder. Seeing the gun on the ground, Laura made a lunge for it, but Emma kicked it away. When Laura followed the gun and stooped to pick it up, Emma zapped her with the Taser.

Laura let out a guttural cry and fell to the ground. She twitched and shivered in pain, then went limp. Emma retrieved the gun. While she watched, Nemo’s ghost left Laura’s body.

“It’s over, Nemo,” Emma said to the ghost. “The police have your sons and shortly Frankie and your grandson will be in custody, too.”

Nemo glared at her. “I underestimated you, Emma Whitecastle. I won’t do that again.”

“Come, Nemo.” In the corner of the room the ghost of Madeline Kurtz materialized. “Come with me.” She held out her hand to Nemo. “Come where there’s no hate or greed or anger. Come with me and find peace.”

“But my boys!” Nemo’s voice was full of anguish. He pointed at Emma. “She did this. She’s responsible.”

“No, she’s not, Nemo. You are. It’s time to let go of all this and put it behind you. Gene and Howard will have to find their own way. You can’t help them. And you can’t hurt them or anyone else anymore.”

The ghost lowered his head. “It was for them. All this was for them. That money was their legacy. A chance for them to have whatever they wanted. Howard was going to retire to Florida near his mother. Gene wanted his own business. They were both leaving Vegas to start over.”

“Come with me,” Madeline urged in a soft voice. “For you, it’s over.”

Nemo looked up at Emma. When their eyes locked, she said, “Madeline’s right. You can’t do anything to save them.” She looked at the old gangster, knowing she should provide words of comfort like Madeline. She usually did when speaking with tragic spirits, but Emma couldn’t. Not this time. Nemo hadn’t acted out of pain and loss as most angry spirits did. He’d been motivated totally by greed. “Go, Nemo,” Emma told the ghost with authority, “and do not come back.”

From the floor, Laura moaned and moved. Emma sighed with relief. She looked up at the ghosts in time to see them fade together. She bent down and checked on Laura. She was still moaning, but was coming slowing back to herself. Emma helped her sit up and propped her against the wall of the bedroom. “I’m so sorry, Laura, but I had to do that.”

Shots split the air, the sharp sound making its way through the TV and AC noise, and nearly stopping Emma’s heart. After telling Laura to stay in the room, she retrieved the gun and stuck her head in Dolly’s room. Milo’s mother was curled up on the bed, her eyes wide with fear. “Stay put,” Emma told Dolly, then jerked her head at Granny. “Go see what’s going on, Granny. I’m right behind you.”

“Me,” Dolly said, not understanding that Emma was talking to a ghost. “You want me to go out there?”

“Dolly, you stay here and stay low,” Emma clarified. “I’ll be right back.” She grasped the gun in one hand, and stuck the Taser in her pocket. With bullets flying, a Taser wasn’t going to do her any good now.

More shots rang out as she made her way to the window she’d looked through earlier. Quinn was on the ground near the front of the Jeep. Frankie Varga was also down. Emma nearly collapsed but forced herself to stay strong.

Where’s Phil? Where’s Phil?
The question went through her mind like a mantra on Red Bull.

“Quinn’s down,” Granny reported, popping up next to Emma. “He’s shot in the leg.”

“And Phil?”

“He’s behind the Jeep. His gun is on the other guy.”

“I can’t see Lloyd, Granny.” Emma’s voice was frantic. “Where is he?”

“I’m not sure, but I think he’s behind the truck, at the tail end. The cop is still between the trailer and the car with his gun on Lloyd, too. The kid is penned in, and if he runs, there’s nowhere to go, just open desert. They’ve got him.”

“Look, Granny.” Emma pointed out the window. Quinn was moving, trying to crawl to safety behind the Jeep. Phil appeared, snagged him under the arms, and started to drag him. A shot was fired and hit the ground near the Jeep.

“Hold your fire, Garby,” yelled Foster, “or you’re going down.”

“Yeah, but I’m taking your friends with me.” Lloyd fired again, this time hitting the ground near Quinn and Phil just as they disappeared behind the cover of the Jeep.

“Uh-oh,” said Granny. “We’ve got company.” Emma turned her attention down the road and spotted a car coming at them.

“Please let that be the police,” Emma prayed under her breath.

Granny disappeared, returning in a flash. “That’s the Garby boys.”

“But the police were supposed to pick them up.”

“It’s them, I’m telling ya.”

The car slowed down, stopping in a cloud of dust just before it reached the property. The passenger’s door opened and a man in a suit stepped out. Emma guessed him to be Gene Garby since it wasn’t Howard. In his hand was a gun, but it wasn’t aimed at anyone in particular. “What’s going on here?” he yelled.

“Dad!” screamed Lloyd. “They’ve got me pinned by the truck. Frankie’s dead.”

“Who are you?” asked Gene Garby. “Show yourselves.”

No one answered.

Emma was relieved that Phil and Quinn were both out of sight.

“It’s Foster,” Lloyd yelled to his father. “Uncle Howard’s partner.”

The driver’s side door opened. Howard Garby stepped out. Like his brother, he stayed behind the door for protection. A gun was in his hand. “John, is that you?” Howard called out. “I think this is all a big misunderstanding.”

“No misunderstanding, Howard,” John called. “I know what you’ve been up to. It’s all over.”

“John,” Howard called in a friendly voice. “I’m sure we can work this all out.”

Before Foster could answer, Gene Garby shot in the direction of Foster’s voice. Emma paled at the sound but recovered when she spotted the top of Foster’s head moving away from the street toward the back of the car.

Another shot rang out. This time from the direction of the Jeep. It hit Gene square in the shoulder. He howled in pain and dropped his gun.

Lloyd responded by firing several shots at the Jeep while Howard continued to pin Foster. Another shot came from the Jeep, this one hitting the front tire by Howard.

More gunfire came from near Lloyd’s car. Foster was returning his partner’s fire. Between the Jeep and John Foster, it was the Garbys who were now pinned down with only their vehicle for cover. Gene Garby tried to pick up his gun with his good arm, but another shot from Phil discouraged his plan. He crawled back into the car and ducked low. Lloyd tried shooting at Phil and Quinn, but his shots only hit the body of the Jeep.

Emma yanked open the door she’d entered and took the steps two at a time. In her hands, she still held the gun.

This side of the mobile home offered no cover. Pressing herself against the side of the structure to stay out of sight, Emma quickly made her way as close to the end of the trailer as she dared. The crash with the Jeep had pushed the front of the truck close to the front of the trailer. It was too small of an opening for Lloyd to squeeze through. He was trapped in the triangle created by the truck and the trailer. His only way out was past Foster.

Emma peeked around the corner and saw Lloyd edging for the far end of the truck, getting closer to the carport. His broad back was to her. Lloyd got ready to shoot again, not at Quinn and Phil this time, but at Foster.