In spite of her protests, Kelly had attended her father’s wedding, reporting back that even though it looked like Hollywood had turned out for the circus event, it was more out of deepseated support and respect for Grant’s parents, George and Celeste Whitecastle. George Whitecastle was a multi-award-winning director and producer who counted Clint Eastwood and George Lucas among his closest friends. George’s parents, both now dead, had been Hollywood legends. Celeste had been a famous starlet known for her beauty and grace. She’d even been dubbed the next Grace Kelly. But like the late Princess of Monaco, Celeste had given up her budding career for love and family. Emma knew that Kelly’s summation was probably correct, that most of the A-list guests at the wedding had been there for George and Celeste. Even though Emma was no longer married to Grant, she was still on the fringe of show business, now having her own talk show on television, and gossip managed to filter down to her. Grant Whitecastle was respected for his runaway ratings, not for himself. The minute those ratings dipped, he’d be kicked aside like a pair of old, worn sneakers, just as he had kicked Emma aside.
No, Emma was over Grant Whitecastle. She’d stopped loving him long before the divorce was final. What she tried to explain to Phil was that she wanted to make new and happier memories with him. Many of her past stays on Catalina had not been happy ones. Even on the small island, Grant had managed to cat around, and many of those luxury hotel rooms had been the scenes of arguments and despair.
It was Tracy Bass, a professor at UCLA and Emma’s best friend, who had suggested the Pavilion Lodge, citing it as the best value and location on the island. And it was. Though not luxurious, the hotel was lovely and comfortable and just footsteps from the beach. It suited Emma just fine. And it suited Phil Bowers, who, though a very successful attorney and rancher, was as unpretentious as a pair of worn jeans.
Emma took an appreciative sip of her coffee and studied the ghost playing in the surf. She’d first seen the spirit yesterday. It had been Thanksgiving morning, their first morning on the island. After enjoying coffee and a continental breakfast at the hotel, she and Phil had gone for a morning stroll to explore the beachfront shop windows while the village of Avalon was first stirring. The ghost of the young woman had been sitting on one of the tiled benches, her eyes closed, her pretty face turned toward the slowrising morning sun as if soaking up rays at high noon in July. As they had passed by, the ghost had opened her eyes and looked at Emma with a frank curiosity as solid as the bench on which she sat. She said nothing, but several steps later, when Emma looked over her shoulder, the ghost was still staring after them.
Catalina supposedly has many ghosts in residence, the most famous being that of Natalie Wood. The actress had drowned while yachting off of Two Harbors, the other main town on the island. The accident had occurred over Thanksgiving weekend in 1981, and since then people claim to have seen the ghost of the popular movie star walking the beach. While on the island, Emma hoped to do some research into the local spirits and legends for a seg ment on Catalina on her weekly television talk show on paranormal theories and activities. Catalina had a rich paranormal history dating back to its original Indian inhabitants, and it included colorful stories about the Chicago Cubs baseball team, who used the island as its spring training camp for nearly thirty years, and the heyday of Hollywood, when movie stars like Clark Gable and Errol Flynn used it as a playground.
Emma Whitecastle was fairly new to the world of spirits and ghosts, only discovering her ability to see and speak with them last year, when the ghost of her great-great-great-grandmother, Ish Reynolds, better known as Granny Apples, had come to her for help to prove her innocence in the death of her husband, Jacob. At first skeptical, Emma reluctantly helped Granny and embraced her ability to see and communicate with the dead. It was during her investigation into Granny’s death that she’d met Phil Bowers. On a reference from Milo Ravenscroft, the clairvoyant who had mentored Emma, she was offered a chance to host the talk show, the Whitecastle name no doubt giving as much, if not more, weight to the producer’s decision about hiring her as her abilities.
Now Emma saw ghosts all the time. They didn’t crowd around her like a swarm of pesky flies, but she was no longer surprised when one presented itself. Usually, they just went about their business. Sometimes they took casual note of her. And sometimes they interacted. Since yesterday morning, Emma had seen the young, bikini-wearing ghost several times, including during Thanksgiving dinner at the country club, where the spirit, dressed in her flirty dotted and ruffled bathing suit, had flitted from table to table unnoticed while guests dined on turkey and pumpkin pie. The spirit hadn’t spoken to Emma yet, just studied her with playful interest like a puppy with a tilted head.
It had been thoughts of the ghost that had given Emma a restless night and beckoned her outside at sunrise.
As the darkness turned to gunmetal gray, the ghost continued to play in the surf. Her image was hazy, like a column of smoke molded into the shape of a woman. She’d been blond in life and very curvy, with large breasts, a tiny waist, and a sweetheart bottom. However she had died, it’d been while wearing the bikini; thus she was forever clad. And she had died young, possibly in her mid to late twenties.
When the ghost turned and looked toward the town, Emma raised a hand and gave the spirit a friendly wave. The ghost smiled and waved back, totally untroubled about being seen. Turning again toward the sea, she shot another smile back over her shoulder and disappeared into the waves lapping at the pier pilings.
“Brrrr,” a familiar whispery voice said from behind Emma. “Makes me cold as a witch’s titty just looking at her.”
Emma continued looking at the spot where the young spirit had disappeared. “You’re a ghost, Granny, you don’t feel cold.”
“But I remember it. Felt it plenty in my life. Hunger, too. There were winters in the cabin, felt like we’d freeze to death before spring came.
As a shiver went through Emma, she took a big drink of her coffee. Usually she could tell when Granny or another spirit was near by a sudden chill in the air, but in the cold of the morning, Granny’s arrival had gone unnoticed. “Do you know that ghost, Granny? The one just now on the beach?” She turned to look at the spirit of Ish Reynolds.
Just as the young ghost was bound for eternity to wear a bikini, Granny Apples would always be dressed in pioneer clothing consisting of a long-sleeved blouse and long, full skirt. Granny had died over a hundred years ago and had been a tiny but strong woman with braided hair circling her head like a halo, and a pinched face weathered by years of working out-of-doors in every type of condition. Emma caught a whiff of the faint odor of apple pie that often accompanied Granny’s presence. In the coolness of the dawn, it was as comforting as a warm fire.
“Can’t say that I do.”
“She keeps appearing to me. I think she wants something.”
“Has she spoken?”
“Not yet. She just watches me in a friendly manner, almost like she’s trying to remember me from somewhere.”
“Maybe she’s an old school mate who passed on.”
Emma swallowed some hot coffee. “No, I don’t think so. From her appearance, I’d say she might have died sometime in the sixties. That’s the nineteen sixties,” Emma clarified for Granny with an impish grin.
The ghost pursed her lips in annoyance. “I ken what you meant. They didn’t wear bathing outfits like that in my day.”
“Did you note her hairstyle? The way it’s teased on top with the ends curled upward? That was called a flip. And her bathing suit looks a bit old-fashioned with the polka dots and ruffles.”
Granny crossed her arms and stood looking out at the water. “Hmph, glad I was dressed when I passed. Hate to think of spending eternity with my backside hanging out like that.”
Granny’s observation caught Emma’s attention. She smiled into her coffee cup, glad she hadn’t yet met any ghosts who’d died in the nude.
The town of Avalon was tucked into a cres
cent-shaped bay on Catalina Island. The main street that ran along the beachfront was appropriately named Crescent. High hills stood on either side of the bay like sentries. Daylight crept over one hill while fog rolled over the opposite one. They met in the middle like tenuous lovers, shrouding the sea in a hazy veil. Palm trees along the beach were ringed with tiny lights, and many of the shopfronts and hotels already had their Christmas lights up and lit. At night, it had been magical walking along the festive beach hand in hand with Phil. This morning, the lights faded into the sunlight, handing the baton of a new day off to the sun.
Both behind and in front of Emma, the town was starting to stir. Ahead of her, people staying on the numerous boats and yachts moored in the bay were wakening. She caught sight of a dinghy making its way from one of them to the pier like a duckling swimming off on its own for the first time. On the long pier that housed several tourist businesses and restaurants, she could make out a few people going about the business of opening for the day. Along Crescent, a few people were out for early morning strolls or heading to work. She heard the soft thunk of metal against pavement, followed by a gentle swoosh behind her. Turning, she saw a man bundled in a jacket and gloves sweeping the street and sidewalk with a broom and caddy, moving deliberately along Crescent, scanning for wayward trash and debris. Catalina was very clean, and its citizens took great pride in keeping it that way. It was one of the things Emma had always enjoyed about the island.
“Mighty beautiful place.”
Emma started. She’d almost forgotten about Granny. The ghost was perched on the far edge of her bench, looking out to sea.
“Never saw the ocean until I was dead.”
“Never?”
The question surprised both Emma and Granny. Swinging their heads in unison to their left, they saw the young ghost-the woman from the beach. She stood just a few feet away. In addition to her bikini, she wore a small bow clipped to the right side of her hair. Nothing else. It was the first time Emma had seen her so close or heard her voice.
“Came from Kansas,” Granny continued, as if she spoke to this new spirit every day. “Settled in the mountains once we got to California. That’s were the gold was. So that’s where my man, Jacob, stayed put.”
“I’d just die if I couldn’t go to the beach.” Through the ghostly whisper, Emma discerned a young voice that held an almost childlike quality. She changed her estimation of the woman’s age at death to be her early twenties.
Granny cocked a thumb in Emma’s direction. “This here’s my great-granddaughter, Emma.”
“Great-great-great-granddaughter, actually.” Emma drank the last of her coffee in one final gulp and tossed the cup into a trash bin that stood next to the bench. She knew Granny was sensitive about her age, even in death. And Emma loved teasing her about it.
“Whatever” Granny rolled her eyes. Emma frowned at the response, thinking Granny was picking up far too many modern bad habits. Granny returned her attention to the ghost. “Emma’s a friend to those on the other side.”
The ghost looked from one woman to the other, from the dead to the living and back again, her face glowing and guileless in the growing morning light.
“My name’s Tessa-Tessa North” Before either Granny or Emma could say anything, the young spirit added, “Am I really dead?”
f you liked the Ghost of Granny Apples debut, then you’ll love investigating the adventures of unforgettable amateur sleuth Odelia Grey, Sue Ann Jaffarian’s heroine in her award-winning mystery series that includes:
Too Big to Miss
(Midnight Ink, 2006)
The Curse of the Holy Pail
(Midnight Ink, 2007)
Thugs and Kisses
(Midnight Ink, 2008)
Booby Trap
(Midnight Ink, 2009)
Look for the latest book in the series, Corpse on the Cob, in February 2010!
Ghost a la Mode [Granny Apples 01] Page 24