Ghost a La Mode (32 page)

Emma's heart stopped. They were going to invade the cottage at gunpoint? She thought about Milo and Tracy, thankful they weren't in harm's way.

Quinn took a step closer to Emma. The woman stayed where she was. Two guns against a Scottish terrier. Emma was definitely at a disadvantage.

"So? Twentyfive paces north of where, Emma? Tell us so we can all go home"

"He'll kill you, Emma." Garrett stepped closer.

"He's going to kill me anyway" Emma didn't think about the words, they just came out of her instinctively, like a cough or sneeze. But as soon as she said them, she knew it was true. She would die whether or not she told them where the gold was, unless she could convince them otherwise.

In the moonlight, Emma caught Quinn's smirk. "Kill you? Let's just say it's fifty-fifty on that at this point."

"Look, I personally don't care who gets the gold. I didn't know about it before I got here, and I don't care about it now."

Quinn appraised her top to bottom and back to the top. "You know, I actually believe you."

"Then let's make a deal." Emma shifted from foot to foot on the uneven ground. "I'll tell you what Billy said. You get the gold and leave Julian. I won't say anything in return for my life and the safety of my friends, including the Bowers family. Just take the gold and disappear. It's blood money anyway."

"Is the gold on the Reynolds property?"

"Yes. "

"I knew it." His voice was smug. "She said it wasn't. Said it would have been too obvious, and Bobcat and Parker would have found it soon after killing Billy."

Mrs. Quinn had the long-suffering look of a wife who'd been told she was wrong most of her marriage.

"Where on the property?"

"We don't have a deal yet."

"It's a deal with the devil, Emma." Garrett drifted between her and Quinn. She ignored him, knowing a deal with the devil was her only chance of survival.

"You're coming with us," Quinn said after giving the situation some thought. "If the gold's there, you can go. If it's not, we'll have to have another talk-this time with a gun to the head of one of those friends of yours"

He started forward to grab Emma, but Archie growled. He aimed the gun at the dog.

"No, please," Emma begged. "He'll behave"

"He's not coming with us. Tie him to a tree."

"But there are other animals out here. It's not safe."

"The tree or a bullet. Your choice."

Emma bent to tie Archie's leash to a nearby small bush, but she didn't fasten it completely. "Stay," she ordered the dog as she walked away. Archie took a step to follow. "Sit. Stay."

This time, Archie sat down and stayed put, his posture vigilant as he watched his mistress being spirited away in the night.

PHIL BOWERS WAS HAVING a bad night. He kept dreaming of pioneer women hanging from trees and snakes driving cars, of ghosts dancing, and bulldogs with flatulence. Or was it dancing bulldogs and ghosts with flatulence? When his cell phone first rang, he thought it was just another crazy extension of his dreams.

He reached for the phone resting on the nightstand. He always kept it on, even when he slept, just in case one of his kids needed him. The last time it rang in the middle of the night, Tom, his youngest, had wrapped his car around a tree on his way home from a party. Like most parents, his heart was in his throat as he answered.

In under a minute, he had jumped into jeans and a tee shirt, shoved his feet into boots, and started running down the stairs.

"Phillip," his aunt called. She was leaning over the banister as he pulled open the door. Her hair was disheveled, and she was in her nightgown. "Is it Tom again?"

"It's Emma. Call 911 and get the sheriff over to the cemetery."

"Oh no! Is she all right?"

"Not sure, just make the call. Tell them to be cautious. The killer might be back."

His truck kicked up a cloud of gravel as it sped down the long drive to the access road. From there, it was nearly another a mile before it turned onto the road that led to the main highway into town. Worried about Emma, to Phil Bowers the drive seemed interminable.

In the middle of the night, the two-lane, twisting highway to town was usually empty. Phil pushed his foot against the accelerator and sent his truck speeding through the deserted countryside as fast as he dared, taking the turns as only a homegrown local could. A couple of miles from town, he saw headlights coming toward him. He slowed down until the dark Honda sedan safely passed, then opened up the throttle full tilt.

THE MIDDLE-OF-THE NIGHT PHONE call had been from Milo Ravenscroft. He'd been woken up by Granny Apples. She'd put her face as close to his as possible and yelled his name with her ghostly voice until she got his attention. It was the only way she knew to help Emma. Immediately, Milo had called Phil Bowers.

"Wake up, Tracy." Milo shook her roughly by the shoulder. "Emma's in trouble."

"Huh?"

"It's Emma. She's gone to the cemetery. Granny just told me. The dog's gone, too."

Tracy sat up and glanced over at Emma's empty bed. Seeing the rumpled sheets woke her like a bucket of cold water. "What should we do?"

"I called Phil. He's on his way over there now with the police. He said to stay put until he called us back."

Tracy threw back the covers. "Like hell I'm sitting still." She had been sleeping in a tee shirt. Grabbing a pair of jeans from her overnight bag, she pulled them on and slipped into her sandals. "Come on. Let's get over there."

From the back of the Honda where Emma was bunched like a sack of potatoes across the back seat, she tried her best to conjure up Granny. She'd never called the ghost to her before in silence and wondered if it was possible. There was no time like the present to find out, and she had nothing to lose. If she could get Granny to pay attention, she might be able to send her for help. She had no way of knowing the ghost was way ahead of her. Before stuffing her into the back seat of the car, the woman had bound Emma's hands in front of her.

In the dark of the car, Emma's other senses were as sharp as a stick pin. She felt every turn in the road. Heard every breath of her kidnappers. At one point, she felt the car swerve hard to the right, then straighten.

"Damn fool," she heard the woman say. "That truck had to be going at least seventy. On these back roads, it's a good way to get killed."

Just as Emma was losing the battle with motion sickness, the car came to a stop. She heard both car doors open. The one at her feet was also opened, and the rush of cool mountain air refreshed her. Strong hands grabbed her ankles and dragged her halfway out of the car. As soon as hard-packed earth was under her feet, she was yanked upright by the waist of her jeans.

She turned this way and that, letting her eyes adjust to the night. She looked up. Stars covered the sky like sequins on a soft velvet dress. To her right, in the distance, she could just make out the Bowers ranch house. A whimper caught in her throat at the thought of the lovely meal and good company she'd shared there with friends just a few hours before. She'd wanted to show Kelly this place of peace and history. And her mother-her mother would like it here, at least for a few days. Then she might get restless. But she knew Elizabeth would find it fascinating to explore where her family had settled after migrating from Kansas.

After retrieving a flashlight and shovel from the trunk of the car, the Quinns marched her from the road to the fence. The man held open the wire, and the woman helped Emma through.

"Okay," Quinn said, "we're here. What did Billy tell you?"

"Twentyfive paces north."

"We know that." His voice was heavy with impatience. "Twentyfive paces north of what?"

"From the well."

He held the shovel up in front of Emma like a flag. "We thought it might be buried. Never hurts to be prepared, does it?"

The three of them trekked over to the old covered well. "Seems we weren't far off," he said to the woman. He turned toward Emma. "Originally, we thought it might be in the well. Bell managed to break the lock and get the lid off a few weeks ago, but there was nothing inside. Would have looked around more, but someone came down the road heading for the Bowers place." He jiggled the shiny new padlock. "Looks like they replaced the lock."

He undid Emma's wrists and handed the shovel to her. "As soon as I say where, start digging."

"Help is coming, Emma." It was Granny, standing almost in front of her. "Don't fret, help's coming." Emma stared straight ahead, not wanting to give any indication to the others that they were not alone.

After gazing up at the sky from several vantage points, the man gave a grunt of satisfaction. He paced off twentyfive steps from the rim of the well and pointed the beam of light at a spot on the ground. "Here."

When she hesitated, the woman nudged Emma in the back with her gun. Emma walked over to where Quinn indicated. She stuck the pointed end of the shovel into the dirt and scooped away a cupful. She repeated the process a few times before he snatched the shovel from her.

"It's going to take all night that way. Haven't you ever used a shovel before?"

"No, I haven't."

"Shit. Just our luck we'd get a hothouse flower."

After pushing her out of the way, the man stuck the end of the spade into the dirt and pushed down on its top edge with his foot, forcing the sharp end deeper into the ground. When he pulled the shovel out, a large chunk of dirt came with it.

"See, gotta use your foot. Put some muscle and backbone into it.

After depositing the dirt to the side, he handed the shovel back to Emma. Granny had disappeared.

Following his instructions, Emma went to work, managing to dig a small, deep hole in no time, but with no results. Quinn instructed her to move slightly to the left, then to the right. She was sweating and tired, and her arms were beginning to ache.

Emma took off her jacket and wiped the sweat from her face. "What I don't understand is who are you people? How did you even find out about this land and the gold?"

"Linda here was old Ian's nurse."

"Peter, don't tell her anything."

"Aw, she's harmless. She knows she'll die if she tells. Isn't that right, Sweet Cheeks?"

Sweet Cheeks-Emma would never complain about being called Fancy Pants again, especially by Phil Bowers.

"That was the deal we made."

"Ian was fascinated by his family history, and when he found documents talking about gold, Linda talked him into going to a seance to see if he could contact the spirits of his ancestors. That's how we met Garrett Bell. He said he could help-for a fee, of course. Unfortunately, Ian died right after receiving the copies of those Winslow letters. Seeing he didn't have any family, we helped ourselves to them and a few other things, and continued working with Bell."

Quinn refocused his attention on the dig. "Can't imagine the boy burying it any deeper than that." He scratched his chin in thought. "Go back to where we started, and dig in a little more toward the well. The boy's paces might've been shorter than mine."

"So the condominiums were just a ruse to cover the hunt for the gold?"

"You can work while you talk, can't you? Or is that something you've never done before, like shoveling?"