Sue Ann Jaffarian - [Granny Apples 01] Read online

  “Will I be able to see others, Milo? So far, I’ve only seen Granny and Aunt Kitty.” Emma asked the questions with a slight tentativeness in her voice. It had been tough enough realizing she could see dead family members. Even though she wanted to help Granny, she wasn’t eager to hobnob with the entire dead population. When Milo didn’t answer right away, she asked again. “Will there be others?”

  “We will have to wait and see, Emma.” He paused and again looked at Granny. Her image was beginning to fade. Emma noticed it, too.

  “Another thing,” Milo added. “I’ve noticed that their physical presence doesn’t last very long. That is why they come and go. You may be able to hear Granny much more than you’ll be able to see her. Think of it as a flashlight with a weak battery. It can only shine for a short time before it must recharge. They can’t always drain the energy from the air. Like us, they need to rest, but in a different way. Granny’s done a lot of work today.”

  Emma turned to the ghost. “Thank you, Granny. I’ll do my best.” She glanced back down at her notes. “I think my first step will be to go down to Julian and look around. I want to see the town and the place where Granny died firsthand. I’m heading down there tomorrow for a few days, though I doubt I’ll find any hard clues. It’s been over a hundred years.”

  “Good idea, though,” Milo agreed. “Never know what might turn up.”

  “Hotel Robinson,” Granny added, her image becoming faint. Emma wrote Hotel Robinson down on her notepad just as Granny disappeared.

  Emma shrugged off her sweater. The returning warmth in the room told them that Granny had not only disappeared physically, but altogether.

  “That’s odd,” Emma said to Milo. “I was on the Internet researching places to stay and never saw a Hotel Robinson on the list. I’ll check again. Maybe Google it by name this time.”

  “Ten.” Milo announced the number in a blunt manner.

  “What?” Emma had been scribbling a note about the hotel on her notepad when she heard him speak. She looked up to see Milo staring off, looking at the wall behind her.

  “Ten,” he repeated. “For some reason, the number ten is coming to me.”

  “You’re a psychic, as well?”

  He shook himself to bring his attention back to her. “Sometimes I have visions or see something vague that might be important. And right now I see the number ten connected with the hotel.”

  Emma studied him a moment. She’d come to like and trust Milo Ravenscroft. In a short time, she’d had to reconsider and believe in things she never would have several months ago, and he’d been there to help her along. She smiled at him, then wrote the number 10 on her notepad in large numbers and circled it.

  “And, Emma—” He started to speak but stopped.

  “You have another inkling about something?” She got ready to record it in her notes.

  “It’s about you, Emma.”

  Emma looked up at Milo, a tingle of fear tickling her heart. “What about me?”

  “Changes, Emma. You’re about to go through some changes.”

  “Considering that I’m in the midst of ending my marriage, I’d say that’s pretty accurate.” She gave him a small, sad smile.

  “Not just your marriage, Emma. You, the person you are, is about to change.”

  Milo was once again looking beyond her, speaking as if transmitting a message. Goose bumps rose on Emma’s arms.

  Milo turned back to her and noted the concern in her eyes. “Don’t fear the change, Emma.” He reached over and patted her hand in comfort. “Embrace it. It will be difficult but worthwhile.”

  His body relaxed as if he’d just finished a strenuous chore. He leaned back in his chair and grinned at her. “Your new haircut is just the beginning.”

  According to her Internet search, the Hotel Robinson turned out to be the present-day Julian Hotel. She’d booked a room at the Orchard Hill Country Inn, the nicest place in Julian, but changed her reservation to the Julian Hotel because of Granny’s comment. After boarding Archie for a few days, she’d driven nearly three hours from Pasadena to Julian, arriving at the hotel around one o’clock in the afternoon.

  Once she got out of the congestion of urban freeway travel, Emma enjoyed driving the rural highways and winding country roads. Her route passed rolling meadows and rocky pastures with grazing cattle and horses. Strewn along the roadside were wild poppies and lavender. She deftly guided the Lexus through the twists and turns of the mountain roads and, for the first time in weeks, felt at peace. Thinking back, she couldn’t remember ever taking a trip alone, not even for a couple of days. She’d always had her parents, Grant, or Kelly with her whenever she’d traveled. She hoped that she would enjoy Julian, and that the trip would become a needed getaway, as well as a fact-finding mission.

  Granny had not made an appearance during the drive. After what Milo had explained, Emma figured she was saving her energy. Emma had gone over her notes several times the night before and wrote out a plan. She needed to find exactly where Ish and her family had lived while alive. Granny’s information was sketchy at best, with possible gaps in the timeline. Milo had explained to Emma that since the spirits don’t exist in accordance with time as the living know it, they often don’t have a full understanding of what has occurred since their deaths. So while Granny knew that Emma and her family were descendants of her son Winston, she wasn’t exactly sure when the family line moved from the countryside of Julian up to the Los Angeles area, or what happened after her death. All she wanted was to prove Granny didn’t kill her husband.

  With Elizabeth’s help, Emma was able to trace their family lineage back several generations on her mother’s side. But the trail stopped short with Winston Reynolds, Granny’s son. They knew that Winston Reynolds had been a prominent attorney in the early 1900s, but the family records dead-ended there, except for references in letters that the family had originated in Kansas and settled in Julian.

  As Emma entered the town of Julian, she felt like she’d stepped back in time. The town was made up of a single main street called, appropriately, Main Street, with several smaller streets shooting off to the north and south of it. There were no traffic signals, just one main intersection with a stop sign. Looking left and right, Emma noted that Main Street ran off into the country in both directions after it left town.

  American flags were posted all along Main Street, and a banner announcing the upcoming Fourth of July parade was strung across the roadway. At the main intersection, there was a small grocery store, a diner/drug store, city hall, and a vacant lot. Following her directions, she turned right at the stop sign. She spotted the Julian Hotel on the next corner on the left. It looked just like the photos on the Internet. Turning left at the hotel, she pulled up next to it and parked.

  Grabbing her luggage, Emma stood at the corner of B Street and Main and studied her surroundings before entering the hotel. The town itself was made up of old buildings that held a variety of businesses, such as restaurants and gift shops that catered to tourists. The buildings didn’t appear to be replicas of times past but the real McCoy, lovingly maintained throughout the years, even if they didn’t still house their original occupation. It was a Wednesday, so there were few visitors milling about the streets, and those that did seemed of retirement age. Take away the modern cars, Emma thought, and the place could have easily been mistaken for a back lot at one of the movie studios in Los Angeles.

  The inside of the Julian Hotel gave Emma another jolt of time travel. Its lobby was meticulously decorated with antiques and period pieces, including a floral carpet and heavy drapes trimmed with fringe.

  “Hello, welcome to the Julian Hotel,” greeted the compact, well-groomed elderly woman behind the small lobby desk. She introduced herself as Barbara and pulled Emma’s reservation to complete the check-in process.

  “Since it’s the middl
e of the week, we have several rooms available,” Barbara explained. “You’re welcome to go upstairs and look at them and choose which one you’d like. They are all decorated a bit differently.”

  Barbara wrote several numbers on a small piece of paper. “These are the rooms not yet occupied. Their doors should be open. The closed doors are rooms that already have guests.”

  Emma looked at the paper. Rooms 8, 9, 10, and 6 were available. Ten. She thought of Milo. He hadn’t specifically said room 10. In fact, he hadn’t been sure what the number ten meant, just that it was significant.

  Oh, why not, Emma thought to herself. She might as well explore every possible ten that crossed her path.

  She handed the paper back to Barbara. “No need. I’ll take room 10.” She hesitated, then added, “A friend recommended it.”

  “It’s one of our most popular rooms,” Barbara told her with a smile as she handed over the key. “Don’t forget, breakfast is served in the parlor between eight and nine. Tea begins at four thirty.”

  When Emma first came into the hotel, she’d noticed a man sitting in the lobby reading a newspaper. He was dressed in casual attire and appeared to be in his early sixties and quite fit. Every now and then she’d glance over and catch him staring at her, appraising her over the top of his paper. She wasn’t a stranger to receiving appreciative looks from men, but lately they had been few and far between. Must be the new haircut.

  Barbara was giving her some last bit of information when a stocky woman with gray hair came down the stairs.

  “Finally,” the man in the lobby said, putting down the paper. He got out of the rocker and joined the woman at the front door. The two of them smiled at Barbara as they left.

  “You have a good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Quinn,” Barbara called to them as they left.

  At the top of the stairs, the hallway branched off in two directions. She headed right. The upstairs was as nicely furnished as the downstairs. Antique mirrors and prints adorned the walls. Plants and floral arrangements were scattered about. After passing a wicker settee and a table with urns of complimentary coffee, she discovered three rooms and a small bath. Since none of the rooms down this hallway were number 10, she went back and headed down the other hallway, which took a sharp right turn. Here she found several open doors and peeked in. The rooms were very small. Each contained an antique dresser and double bed and a private bath. On the walls was vintage wallpaper. On the beds, lovely quilts. In the middle of the hallway on the right, she located room 10.

  Suddenly, Emma felt a familiar chill. She glanced around, expecting to see Granny, but saw nothing.

  “Granny,” she whispered several times in both directions down the hallway. She dropped her bag just inside her room and strolled to the end of the hallway, where it dead-ended at an exit that led down a wooden stairway to the yard below. “Granny, you here?”

  Nothing. Even if Granny was reserving her energy, she could at least say hello. Getting no response, she went back to room 10 and shut the door behind her.

  Her room was similar to the others in furnishings. The bed was made of white iron, with the joints painted a dark blue that matched the heavy drapes at the single window and the swag over the headboard. The quilt on the bed had an Americana feel, with a colorful checkerboard pattern surrounded by roses. The wallpaper was yellow, with roses running in vertical stripes. To the right of the bed was a slim wooden armoire. To the left side, a single wooden chair. Across from the door was a lovely antique dresser with a mirror. The décor was fussy and busy, yet all of it worked together in a charming and beautiful manner. Tempted to forget her personal problems by escaping to another era, Emma fought the urge to climb up on the high bed and burrow herself under the quilt.

  Instead, she put her bag on the bed. Toiletries in hand, she inspected the private bath. It was modern, yet still fit with the Victorian décor. It held a stall shower, toilet, and pedestal sink. She placed her makeup bag on the wooden shelf above the sink. When she turned around and faced her room, she gasped.

  “I’m sorry if I scared you, Emma.” Granny was perched on the edge of the tall bed, her feet swinging more than a foot off the floor.

  For the first time since Emma had met the ghost, Granny’s face held a smile that circled her face as her braid circled her head. In spite of her transparency, Emma noticed a twinkle in the spirit’s eyes. She seemed genuinely happy.

  “This place was brand-spanking new about the time I passed,” she told Emma. “Of course, it didn’t have these fancy privies then. Belonged to Margaret and Albert Robinson. Started out a restaurant. Margaret could cook, I’ll tell ya. Put the rest of us to shame.” Granny’s smile widened. “Except for her apple pie. I was the best pie baker.”

  As Emma continued to unpack and put her things into the dresser drawers, Granny told her about the hotel, the Robinsons, and Julian. Emma tried to forget she was conversing with someone who’d been dead over a hundred years and just let herself enjoy the camaraderie. Like a thirsty sponge, her brain absorbed everything Granny told her. It was interesting and might provide some clues Granny had forgotten about her death.

  A short while later, Emma found herself back on Main Street, but without her ghostly sidekick. She walked down the sidewalk, nosing about in the cute shops that sold everything from jams and baked goods to clothing, crafts, and antiques. She’d picked up a town guide along the way and studied it. It showed all the points of interest, restaurants, and shops. The hotel had recommended either the Julian Grille or Romano’s Dodge House for dinner. After perusing sample menus at the hotel, she decided on the Julian Grille. It was almost three. If she had just a snack now, she could have an early dinner and turn in shortly after. The town didn’t seem to have any sort of night life, and she was glad she’d brought a couple of books with her.

  She stopped in at Mom’s Pie House and ordered a cup of coffee with a slice of warm apple pie and vanilla ice cream. She didn’t know how long she’d be in Julian but figured she’d be there long enough to sample the goods of all the pie shops. Her earlier vow of prejudice aside, she was fast becoming a fan of apple pie, and since Julian was famous for it, it seemed almost sacrilegious to order any other kind.

  Needing to walk off the apple pie, Emma headed up Main Street, past the main intersection, past the Julian Pie Company, and past the Julian Grille. According to the city guide, the Pioneer Cemetery was just up the street. Emma wondered if Granny was buried there and, if so, would she be able to find her grave. She hoped Granny would return to help her.

  The Pioneer Cemetery was located at the top of a hill at the edge of the commercial part of town. Its presence was announced by a large, white wrought-iron arch over a winding, uphill path. To aid the steep climb, steps of railroad ties were embedded into the land and followed the path. Alongside the steps was a sturdy railing made of fresh lumber. At the beginning of the climb was a plaque informing visitors that until 1924, when a road access was developed, all coffins were carried up the steep hill, no matter what the season.

  Looking again at the simple city map, Emma located the easier road access yet decided to make the climb. It would do her—and the pie in her stomach—good. She also wanted to take the same path Granny had taken when she’d buried Jacob shortly before her own death.

  Whether they realized it or not, the inhabitants of the Pioneer Cemetery had a fabulous view of the town and surrounding hills with their lush vegetation and pine trees. Locating a bench under the leafy canopy of a large tree, Emma sat down and looked out, enjoying the countryside that was so different from Pasadena and the bustle of Los Angeles. She wished she’d brought someone with her. Julian was a romantic and peaceful place, yet she knew Grant would never have enjoyed it. Not fast enough. Not trendy enough. Not modern enough. Maybe Tracy, Emma thought. Tracy would have enjoyed this trip and this town, but Emma still hadn’t told her friend about Granny Apples. Only her mot
her and Milo knew that Emma had embarked on a journey into the past with Ish Reynolds. Perhaps she could bring Tracy next time. Who knew, maybe next time she’d have someone new to travel with.

  Her thoughts surprised her. Not once since she’d left Grant had she thought about the possibility of someone else. Both her mother and Tracy had made some not-so-subtle hints about Emma dating again, but Emma still felt married. She was still married. In spite of his behavior, Emma didn’t feel finding someone new was an option until it was finally over with Grant Whitecastle. Sitting on top of a hill in Julian, California, surrounded by the dead, she wondered if maybe she hadn’t buried her marriage yet—if, in fact, deep down, she hoped it could be resurrected like Lazarus and given new life, even with everything that had happened between them.

  After taking a deep breath of the clean mountain air, Emma put thoughts of her marriage aside. It was then she noticed the chill. Now comfortable with the feeling, Emma smiled and turned to her right, expecting to see Granny. Instead, sitting next to her on the bench was the ghost of a man.

  “Oh my God!” Emma yelled as she jumped up from the bench, catching her foot on a tree root in the process. Down she went to her hands and knees. Like a crab caught on dry land, she quickly scrambled away from the bench. Once she was several feet away, she turned and sat in the dirt amongst the country graves and stared at her new companion.

  “I didn’t mean to give you a fright, ma’am,” the spirit said to her. The image was of a young man, maybe in his early twenties, with a smooth face and dark, unruly hair. He wore work trousers with suspenders, heavy boots, and a plaid shirt.

  “Who … who are you?” Emma had just gotten used to seeing Granny, and now she was seeing a new apparition. Her legs were shaking so bad, she didn’t dare get back on her feet.

  “Billy Winslow, ma’am.”

  “How come I can see you, Billy?” Emma calmed herself down enough to be able to get to her feet, but she still kept her distance.