“Mrs. Sandra Sechrest, I presume?”
“Just Sandy, please.” The eyes of the older ghost opened and fixed on Emma and Phil. “You must be Emma, and this must be your gentleman friend.” Although her voice came out in the usual ghostly sounds, the words were direct and clear, with just a hint of the slight vibration that comes with age. “Tessa’s told me a great deal about you.”
The young ghost at her feet shot a smile at them both before popping up and running toward the waves, where she disappeared.
“Ah, youth,” sighed the older ghost. “Even in death, their exuberance both entertains and tires me.”
“May we join you, Sandy?” Emma asked.
“Yes, of course.”
Emma sat down on the bench and indicated for Phil to sit next to her, placing him between her and the spirit. “Do you mind if Phil sits between us? That way people will think I’m talking to him instead of to thin air.”
“Good plan. I know for years folks thought I was crazy.”
“So you could see and hear spirits before you died?”
“Yes, all my life, even as a young girl. People thought I had imaginary friends. When I got older, I learned to be more cautious.”
“Were you afraid people wouldn’t believe you?”
The ghost chuckled. “More like I was afraid they would. I had no need for either the scorn or the folderol that would come with it.”
Emma looked out over the bay. “I know what you mean.”
“I daresay you do, Emma Whitecastle of The Whitecastle Report.”
Emma leaned around Phil to shoot Sandy a look of surprise. The ghost gave her a warm, knowing smile.
“Problems?” Phil asked. Emma shook her head slightly but kept her eyes on the ghost.
“I knew who you were as soon as Tessa gave me your name,” Sandy told her. “I’ve seen your television show. Think it’s first-rate. And you’re very skillful at keeping your personal talents out of the limelight. To most, you’re probably just a lovely and talented show host. But I knew the moment I first saw you onscreen that you had the gift.”
Quickly, Emma gave Phil a summary of the conversation.
When she was done, Sandy asked, “You finally divorced from that scoundrel Grant Whitecastle?”
“Yes,” Emma answered, no longer surprised at what Sandy said. “Nearly a year now.”
The ghost looked Phil Bowers up and down. “I see you traded up.”
Emma snorted with laughter.
“What?” Phil asked.
“She said you’re an improvement over Grant. Said I traded up.”
Phil glanced at the ghost. Even though he couldn’t see her, he winked in her direction. “Damn straight she did. Nowhere to go but up from that fool.”
With the sun officially down, the air was getting cooler. Phil drew Emma into him for warmth, holding her tight.
“Sandy,” Emma continued, “I saw a small entry in a book about your sighting of a bikini-wearing ghost. But there was no mention of her in the other books I saw on Catalina spirits.”
“That’s correct. A few longtime friends knew I could see the spirits. The man who wrote that book was a friend and island resident. He passed away about a year after its publication. When he asked my permission to include it, I said yes, as long as he didn’t sensationalize it.”
“How long have you known about Tessa?”
“I started seeing her spirit many years ago. As far as I can tell, almost as soon as she died.”
“In the late sixties?”
“That would be about right. For years, my husband and I came down here every evening for the sunset. One summer night, Howard and I were sitting here enjoying ice cream cones, and there Tessa was, playing in the surf plain as day.”
“Could your husband see her?”
Sandy shook her head. “No. He didn’t have the gift. But he knew I did and made his peace with it.” She again looked Phil over. “It helps to have an understanding mate.”
Emma turned her head toward the surf and waited a moment before speaking again. “I don’t think Tessa has crossed over yet, Sandy. Have you?”
“My, yes. Couldn’t wait.” The ghost’s voice took on excitement, and a wide smile crossed her hazy face. “But even before I died, I knew I’d come back here again. Howard and I still watch the sunsets together most nights, though he’s not as diligent as I am.”
“But what about Tessa? Have you encouraged her to cross?”
“Yes, I have. I’ve tried to explain to her that it’s a simple thing, but important, to complete the process, like checking in and being accounted for, then she can come back. But she’s stubborn. She’s waiting for a man and is sure he’s returning to her right here in Avalon.” The ghost sighed. “I think she’s afraid if she crosses over, she’ll either miss or forget him.”
“Tessa died forty years ago. If the man she’s waiting for was in his twenties, then he’d be in his mid-sixties now, possibly older. He could already be dead.”
“I don’t think he is, Emma. Just a feeling I have.”
“Did she tell you his name?”
“Only name she ever said was Curtis.”
Emma passed along the information to Phil. “So,” he said, “we’re looking for a man named Curtis, who is older and used to come here on a boat.”
Emma addressed the ghost. “Sandy, we want to help Tessa. Is there anything, anything at all, you can remember that might help us find this Curtis? I think he’s the key to helping her.”
“Not this minute, but if I do, I’ll find you. I’d like the child to move along as much as you would. I know it sounds odd, but she’s become like a daughter to me over the years.”
“Doesn’t sound odd to me at all, Sandy. I have a daughter almost her age. I’ve wanted to help Tessa as soon as I first saw her.” Emma paused. “There’s something both sweet and tragic about her, isn’t there? Something that brings out the maternal instincts.”
The ghost looked at Emma and nodded. “Yes, there’s definitely something going on beneath that naiveté. Makes you wonder what her story is. Something tells me it’s a doozy.”
After Emma conveyed the latest batch of conversation to Phil, they fell silent for a few minutes. Phil and Emma cuddled against the cold, Sandy gazed off into the sea; the three of them settled easily into comfortable companionship.
Emma broke the silence with another question. “Sandy, do you have any idea how or exactly where Tessa died?”
Sandy glanced at Emma, then looked back at the ocean, her lined face screwed in concentration. “I’m not sure she even knows or remembers herself. She could have blocked it out or is in denial. I just recall her saying something about a loud noise and a blow or something hitting her. And blood. She did say there was a lot of blood. She’s always said Curtis was getting help and coming back.”
“We’re researching the back issues of the newspaper tomorrow. Maybe there’s something there that could tell us something.”
The ghost shook her head. “Doubtful. I’ve read every issue of that paper since I’ve been able to read, even when I went to the mainland to live for a short while. A death on an island this size is always big news, especially the death of a tourist. There was never anything about Tessa’s death in the paper, I’ll almost guarantee it.”
“That would mean she didn’t die on the island then.”
“There was never any mention that I recall about a bad accident involving a young woman either. Ever since I first met Tessa, I’ve been trying to figure out what happened to her.”
Emma’s mind tumbled over the possibilities until it settled on a hit. She sat at attention as she addressed the ghost. “Are you saying it’s possible she died and her body was never found?”
The spirit of Sandy Sechrest got up and drifted a few feet, its image starting to fade.
“What I’m saying is, I’m glad you’re here, Emma Whitecastle. If anyone can help Tessa, it’s you.”
“I’ll do my best. If you re
member anything and can’t find me, try to find a spirit named Granny Apples. She’s helping.”
“I’ve already met Granny. She was with Tessa earlier.” Sandy grinned at Emma. “That ancestor of yours is quite a pistol. Said she needed to find a TV. I sent her to that bar over there.” The ghost pointed toward a beachfront cantina. “Didn’t know they had television in her time.” She laughed.
“They didn’t. It’s a modern bad habit she’s acquired, along with a few others.”
“Seems she’s a Chargers fan.” Again, the spirit laughed, this time with gusto. “Just when you think you’ve seen it all.”
“The Chargers aren’t playing today,” Phil said after the spirit of Sandy Sechrest disappeared and Emma filled him in on the rest of the conversation. He and Emma were still on the bench. Huddled together, they watched the soft glow of evening break over the waves.
“Granny doesn’t know that, Phil. I doubt my father discusses football season schedules with her.” Emma gave off a slight chuckle. “I’m not even sure he realizes she watches the games with him.”
“Maybe we should go to a game and take her along.”
Emma sat up and looked at him with amusement. “You want to create a monster? Right now she thinks it’s a game played inside a little box, like a movie. She’d be haunting the locker room if she found out it’s real and found her way there.”
“Never know, might help their game.”
Emma got up from the bench and tugged on Phil’s hand. “Come on,” she said with a giggle, “let’s go see if she’s still in that bar. How does an Irish coffee sound?”
“Like medicine for my cold, achy bones. Lead on, Fancy Pants.”
Granny Apples wasn’t at the bar watching TV. Neither did she show up later that evening. Nor did Tessa or Sandy. Phil and Emma spent a relaxing, ghost-free evening and Saturday morning. After breakfast, they walked down to the Casino and the museum.
Built in 1929, the Catalina Island Casino is the most recognizable landmark on the island and graces the majority of postcards sent by visitors. Despite its name, there was no gambling. The magnificent, circular, Art Deco building got its name from the Italian meaning of the word casino—gathering place. Housing a grand ballroom and a movie theatre, as well as the Catalina Island Museum, it was the main venue for events on the island. During the island’s glory days, it hosted many of the famous big bands and talents like Glenn Miller and Harry James. Even today, people flock to the island to attend special dances and events at the Casino. Although Emma had been inside the Casino many times, its overwhelming beauty and size never failed to stun her into reverence.
Sandy had said she’d never seen anything in the newspaper that could be linked to Tessa North, but Emma still wanted to go through some of the back issues surrounding the time of Tessa’s death. She found nothing about a death or accident during the time period, nor did she find anything in the weeks or months following about a body being found. In all, their trip to the museum produced a big zero, except that Emma spotted the ghost of a woman dressed in finery from the early 1900s wandering the museum. It was one of the spirits mentioned in the book she’d picked up the day before.
“Did you see this?” Phil pushed an old newspaper in Emma’s direction. “It’s about Sandy Sechrest.”
Emma studied the article. It was short in length and reported that island artist Sandy Sechrest was having a showing of her work at the Lighthouse Gallery.
“She’s a painter,” Emma said. “Makes sense. The shirt she was wearing appeared to be covered with paint splatters.” She took note of the date on the paper. “Apparently, she was painting years ago and was still at it when she died.” She looked at Phil. “How interesting.”
“Wonder if any of her paintings are still around.”
Before leaving the museum, they asked the curator about Sandy Sechrest.
“The Lighthouse Gallery closed down many, many years ago,” the woman reported. “But Sandy’s work is still being sold in several of the present galleries. She was well known for painting scenes of life here on the island.”
After walking back to the main part of town via Casino Way, they consulted their guidebook for art galleries. At the first they struck out, but the owner directed them to another gallery on the next street over, saying that gallery had several of Sandy’s paintings currently on display.
The second gallery was larger. There appeared to be a single clerk, and he was tied up with an older couple considering an original oil seascape. The clerk nodded at Phil and Emma when they came in and said he’d be with them shortly. They strolled the shop, which ran long and deep into the building. On the walls were many paintings, all by local artists, according to posted plaques. Most were of nature, with seascapes being the most common theme.
“Here’s one, Emma.” Phil was standing in front of a large oil painting in an ornate frame, peering at the plaque through his reading glasses. The painting was of Avalon Bay. There were a few boats moored in the bay, and from the clouds and sky, it appeared to have been a stormy day. “It says it was painted in 1997.”
Emma read the plaque of the painting next to it—one depicting a fire ravaging a canyon. The painting was both beautiful and terrifying, and so realistic you could almost feel heat from the blaze radiating off the canvas. “This one was painted in 2007.” Emma looked over at Phil. “I remember this fire. It almost destroyed the island.”
“Most everyone was evacuated to the mainland, but I stayed.”
Emma turned to find the ghost of Sandy Sechrest standing behind her.
“I painted several scenes from the fire, but they never sold well. People want happy and serene. They don’t want to be reminded of catastrophes. But I felt the need to memorialize it. After all, it was part of island life.”
Before answering, Emma glanced over at the store clerk. He was still busy with his customers near the front of the store. “You died while painting, didn’t you, Sandy?”
The ghost smiled. “Yes, died with my boots on, so to speak. Was working on a wildflower scene when my heart gave out. Wouldn’t have wanted to go any other way.”
The ghost drifted deeper into the store. “There are several more of my paintings here, but this is the one I’d like you to see.” She stopped in front of a medium-sized oil of Avalon Bay during the height of summer tourism. The bay was filled with moored boats. The sun was high. But the painting focused on the people filling the beach. They sat on towels or in beach chairs or cavorted in the surf. Children played with pails and shovels. The plaque said it was completed in 2006, but something was off.
“The clothing,” Emma said, glancing from the painting to the ghost. “It’s wrong for the time period during which it was painted.”
“Very observant, Emma.” The spirit moved closer to the painting. “It’s of the time when I first saw Tessa. I wanted to preserve it. Should have painted it years before.”
Emma pointed to a prominent and familiar figure standing knee deep in the surf, one arm in the air waving playfully at something or someone. The figure in the painting wore a pink polka dot bikini and a flip hairstyle. “That’s Tessa.”
“Yes. It’s what I recall seeing just after she started showing up. Of course, I took liberties with the color of her swimsuit, since I couldn’t tell what it was by looking at her spirit. Always thought it might be pink though.” Sandy stopped studying her painting and faced Emma. “Something happened to that girl, Emma, something terrible. I’m certain of it. I should have looked into it myself back then, but I didn’t. I painted this so she wouldn’t be lost and forgotten forever. Call it her epitaph.”
Emma showed the painting to Phil and relayed what Sandy had said. When she turned back around to the ghost, she was gone.
They were at a small beachside restaurant, relaxing and having a bite of lunch, when Granny popped up unexpectedly. “Movies.” The ghost said the word in a blunt manner, like it’d been chopped off from a whole sentence. Startled, Emma started coughing on th
e bite of sandwich in her mouth.
“You okay, darling?” Phil handed her a glass of water.
Emma took the offered water and took several large swallows, clearing her throat. “I’m fine,” she choked out as she dabbed her moist eyes with her napkin. “Granny just surprised me mid-bite, that’s all. You’d think I’d get used to it, wouldn’t you?”
“Maybe we can put a bell around her neck, like on a cat. Or set up a special ring tone, like on a cell phone.”
Emma and Phil laughed. Granny Apples scowled. “I ain’t no darn cat. And while you two have been lollygagging, I’ve been working.”
Emma looked around to make sure no one was within earshot, but they were the only people currently on the patio. Most were dining inside, where it was warmer. “We’ve been working, too, Granny. We’ve talked with the ghost of Sandy Sechrest. We’re beginning to think Tessa’s body was never found.”
“A person doesn’t just misplace a body.” Granny twisted her pinched face from side to side and pursed her lips. “Seems to me that means murder.”
“Quite possible. So, Granny, what did you say about movies?”
“Movies. Talking pictures. I think they have something to do with Tessa.”
“Did she mention them?”
Granny moved her head up and down in short, mechanical movements. “Spent some time with the girl. She was chattering about motion pictures. Something about breaking them. My land, that lass can jabber—at least about everything not having to do with Curtis or why she’s dead.”
Emma gave Phil a quick summary.
He thought a minute. “Could Tessa have meant breaking into the movies?”
Emma turned back to the ghost. “Did Tessa say she was in the movies, Granny? Was she an actress?”
Granny gave the question serious thought. “I just recollect her saying that breaking movies was exciting.”
Emma whipped out her cell phone and punched the speed dial for Jackie Houchin. Again, she reached only voicemail. “Jackie, on that info I need for Tessa North, also check to see if she might have been an actress. Probably was just starting out in the sixties.”
Ghost in the Polka Dot Bikini: A Ghost of Granny Apples Mystery Page 5