Ghost of a Gamble (Granny Apples Mystery) (9 page)

“Come on,” Emma said to Quinn. “I’ll give you a ride back downtown.”

“If you don’t mind,” Quinn told her, “can you take me back to the Strip. I’m staying at Treasure Island.”

“Well, that’s convenient,” Emma said with a smile. “I’m at the Venetian, right across the street.”

“Yeah,” Granny said, half under her breath. “Too convenient, if ya ask me.”

When Emma shot Granny a frown, Granny went to the kitchen counter and stared up at Lenny the Lightbulb. “Now might be a grand time for you to show yourself and start talking.”

“H
I,
Phil,” Emma said into the phone. As soon as she was in her room with her feet up, she’d returned his call. “I hope it’s not too late. Tracy said you were turning in around eleven.”

“Not at all, sweetheart. I’m in bed reading, hoping you’d call.”

Emma took a deep breath, almost able to smell Phil Bowers and his favorite soap through the phone. “I miss you.”

“I miss ya back, but you sound exhausted. I hope you’re on your way to bed and not hitting the Vegas nightlife.”

“Nope, bed it is about ten minutes after this call. Maybe less if I wash my face and brush my teeth with any speed.”

Phil laughed. “What’s going on out there? Tracy said you were in the middle of a ghost when I called. Was that the one Milo suspected of being at his mother’s place?”

“No. In fact, if the situation weren’t so serious, it would be hysterical.” Emma scooted down deeper into the large sofa and thought about staying that way until morning. The scotch had definitely mellowed her out.

“The ghost I was talking to was that of an old Mafia-type gangster from the 1960s who passed away tonight. He died shortly after Milo’s mother, Dolly, visited him at the rest home where he was living.”

“You don’t think she had anything to do with his death, do you?”

“Granny wondered that, too, but I doubt it.” Emma ran a hand through her hair as if filing away the possibility for later consideration. “Anyway, Nemo, the gangster ghost, is looking for Lenny, the ghost inhabiting Dolly’s kitchen light. Nemo claims he had Lenny killed way back when but that his goons didn’t get the information out of Lenny before they whacked him.”

Phil laughed. “You’re making this up. You have to be.”

“It does sound like something from a kooky TV show, doesn’t it? Except this could have very serious consequences. You see, Dolly is now missing and Nemo claims he’s holding her hostage until Lenny gives up the information he wants.”

“Are you kidding me?” Phil’s tone turned from jovial to flat and focused. “How in the hell can a ghost hold a living person hostage?”

“Nemo says his associates have her and are willing to kill her to get the information.”

“But you said this guy died just tonight.”

“That’s right. And unlike most spirits who pass over, he doesn’t seem the least bit confused. In fact, it’s just the opposite. It’s almost like he died with a purpose, even though he was in his late eighties and well on his way to dying already.”

“This has got to be the oddest thing you’ve been mixed up with yet.”

“I totally agree, Phil.” Emma shook off the urge to close her eyes. “All Milo and I can figure out is that this Nemo is working with another medium to communicate with his pals who are holding Dolly. Meanwhile, Lenny is MIA. On top of that, one of Dolly’s oldest friends died tonight in her sleep. She’d been ill.”

“I’m coming out there,” Phil told her. “I don’t like this one bit. It’s too weird, even by your standards. Let me clear my calendar in the morning and catch a plane to Vegas tomorrow afternoon.”

“A plane, Phil?” Emma’s mouth broke into a tired and lazy smile. Whenever they visited Las Vegas, they drove, even though the flight was a short one.

“Yes, a plane. I gather you drove up there. No sense having two vehicles. We can drive back together.”

“That’s not necessary, Phil. Granny’s working on finding Lenny and keeping tabs on Nemo best she can. We’re looking into local mediums and doing what we can to find Dolly. Tomorrow the police will consider her officially missing and will join in the hunt.”

It was about now that sleep battled with Emma’s need to tell Phil about Quinn. She didn’t want to hide Quinn’s presence, but she also didn’t want to upset Phil. She jumped in, thinking it better to tell him now than wait. “By the way, I bumped into an old friend today who is also helping out.”

“Really? Who’s that?”

“Quinn Keenan.”

From the other end of the line came silence, long as a desert road and heavy as lead.

“You there, Phil?” Emma asked, half hoping the call had been dropped.

Phil cleared his throat. “Quinn just happened to be in Las Vegas the very day you arrived?”

“No, Phil, he didn’t
just happen
to be here.” Emma felt herself getting defensive. “He’d been here for a few days for a bachelor party. I even met the groom when I bumped into them on Fremont Street.”

“But you said Quinn is helping out with this ghost matter.”

“Yes, he wants to help so he’s staying around an extra day or so. You know how intrigued he is about this ghost stuff.”

“Uh-huh. And is he also staying at the Venetian?”

Emma sat up, the sleep dropping from her eyes as she picked up on Phil’s snarky tone. “No, Phil. Not the Venetian. For your information, he’s staying at Treasure Island. You can call there if you want to check out my story.”

“Emma, don’t be that way. It just seems odd that he popped in like that out of nowhere and now is hell-bent on sticking around to help.”

“What are you saying, Phil?”

“I’m saying maybe you let it drop that you were going to Vegas and he decided to take the opportunity to pursue you. I know the two of you stay in contact.”

“We’re friends, Phil. Quinn and I are
just
friends. Something I’ve told you many times.” Emma got to her feet and paced the living room area of her suite with long strides. She was angry and tired, not a good combination, and the warm fuzzy feeling from the alcohol had disappeared. “And we’re not in as much contact as you imagine in that jealous head of yours. I didn’t even know myself I was heading to Las Vegas until late yesterday.”

“I still don’t like him mooning after you the way he does.”

“Drop it, Phil. An elderly woman is missing and I’m too tired to argue about your stupid jealousy. It really is the most unattractive thing about you.”

“Now, now, Fancy Pants,” Phil said, using his pet name for Emma to cajole her. It only made Emma more frustrated.

“This is serious, Phil. There is nothing wrong with me having Quinn Keenan as a friend. I have lots of male friends, just as you have lots of female friends. You don’t see me being jealous about them, do you?”

“This is different, Emma. My female friends are not in love with me.”

“Oh no? You’re a good-looking successful attorney with a ranch. Trust me, Phil, there are several who’d jump you in a hot minute if I wasn’t in the picture, but I don’t fuss about them because I trust you and what we have.”

“Really? Who?” Phil’s questions didn’t come as a challenge but more as surprised curiosity.

Out of frustration, Emma hung up and continued pacing.

Her phone rang again. It was Phil’s ringtone. Instead of answering, Emma stomped through the bedroom area and into the bathroom. The bathrooms at the Venetian were Emma’s favorite part of their rooms. She poured lavender bath salts she’d brought with her into the large and very deep soaking tub. While the tub filled, she washed her face, brushed her teeth, and undressed, yanking at her clothes with sharp jerks of anger. Once naked, she slipped into the deep hot water. She could hear her phone start ringing again in the other room, once more with Phil’s assigned ringtone, and wished she’d shut it off, but she wasn’t about to get out of the tub now to do it. It rang again, then stopped.
Good.

A few minutes later, Emma was finally relaxing. She scooted deeper down into the tub and let her mind wander over the events of the day, trying to neatly separate them into facts and theories. She separated out what was true and what could be true, making neat mental piles. When thoughts of Phil competed for her attention, she swept them away as best she could, like debris from a rainstorm, and continued reviewing the facts surrounding Dolly’s disappearance.

When she got home, she and Phil would have to have a long talk. She felt a bit guilty about ending the call the way she did. Her behavior had been fueled by exhaustion and his attitude about Quinn’s presence. Grant Whitecastle had been neglectful as a husband, seeming not to care one way or another if another man was attracted to her. Phil was the opposite, although he only seemed to obsess about Quinn. Well, he’d just have to get over it because she liked being around Quinn and enjoyed his company as a friend. And she’d been telling the truth about women eyeing Phil. There were several who lived in the Julian area—two divorcees and a widow. She’d watched them fawn over Phil at festivals and town events when they were first dating, before their relationship was well known. One of them was hot on his trail even now. Emma had to admit she did get a bit jealous when she saw the woman batting her eyes at Phil or heard she’d been visiting Phil’s aunt Susan at the ranch, but she kept that to herself. Yes, a long talk with Phil was in order.

Tonight when they left Dolly’s, Quinn had seen how exhausted she was and offered to drive them back to the Strip. Emma had gladly handed over her keys. They had chatted about the ghosts and Dolly, but nothing else. When they pulled up to the Venetian, Quinn had handed the valet the keys. She’d started to say good night when he handed her the parking claim ticket, but Quinn had insisted on walking Emma through the noisy casino, his hand gently cupping her elbow. He rode up in the elevator and escorted her to her room, where he took his leave like a true gentleman, saying he’d call her in the morning. Phil would have done the same for a female friend. Emma knew that for sure. The two men were not that different in how they treated women or other people in general. Both were intelligent and confident, and both were decent and kind. Was that what Phil was afraid of? That he recognized in Quinn the very same characteristics she, Emma, found attractive in him, and was worried her affections would be turned.

Emma let out the deep breath she’d been holding during her thoughts. Picking up the washcloth, she finished washing herself, then climbed out of the tub to dry off. The bath had helped her relax after the fight with Phil had wound her up but now she was wide awake. After putting on her nightgown, she crawled in bed and turned on some late-night TV. She hoped she’d fall asleep soon since she and Quinn were going to meet at seven thirty in the morning for breakfast before going back to Dolly’s to plan out the day with Milo and Tracy.

When sleep continued to elude her, Emma got up and headed for the minibar. A small bit of wine usually helped when she was restless at night. On her way to the fridge, she spied her cell phone and remembered she needed to charge it. She retrieved it from the coffee table where she’d left it after talking to Phil and retraced her steps to the bedroom area to grab her charger from her suitcase. Before plugging it in, she noticed there were two voice mails, both from Phil while she was in the tub. He’d also left her a text message apologizing for his behavior and asked her to call him in the morning.

“Nemo’s boys are coming for you.”

Emma whipped her head around in the direction of the voice. It was coming from the corner of the living room where the large window met the side wall by the desk. She put down the phone and took a cautious step in that direction. Then another, shuffling carefully so as not to scare off the spirit. She saw nothing, just a dark corner of the room. Then the bottom of the drape moved—slightly, as if by a small puff of air. The drape moved again, this time a foot farther away from the corner. Then another foot and another slight movement of heavy fabric. The ghost was on the move, warily coming closer. Emma stepped down from the bedroom area into the sunken living room, feeling for the shallow drop with her right foot so she wouldn’t have to take her eyes off the moving drape.

“Lenny, is that you?”

At the mention of the name, the ghost started appearing. Just a shimmer at first, like a fist full of dust motes caught in a spark of random light. Then the shimmer expanded into a hazy outline.

“Lenny,” Emma said, addressing the image again. “There is no need to be afraid.”

The image grew sharper, filling in until Emma saw a tall, slight man with thick hair and a long angular face—a face that looked vaguely familiar. Then it occurred to her that she might have seen that face in photos on the wall at Dolly’s. In several photos, if she remembered correctly.

“It’s dangerous,” Lenny said.

“You’re in no danger here,” Emma assured him.

The ghost gave her a small smile. He was plain faced, but his smile changed everything, giving him a dashing look. “Not for me, Mrs. Whitecastle. I’m dead.” He moved away from the drapes. “It’s dangerous for you. For all of you. Nemo is coming. His boys are coming.”

“I’ve already met Nemo,” Emma told him. She perched on the edge of the sofa’s arm. “He’s dead now. His spirit showed up at Dolly’s place looking for you.”

Lenny paced across the floor in front of Emma. “Then it has begun.”

“He says his people have Dolly Meskiel. They are holding her until he gets what he wants from you.”

Lenny’s head whipped around to face her. “They have Doll?”

“That’s what Nemo claims. Dolly was visiting him tonight before he died. She went missing right after that. He said his people will kill her if he doesn’t get what he wants from you.”