After closing the phone, she said, “Good work, Granny. That information could be a very big help.”
“Humph, glad some of us are working. How long is this holiday of yours anyway?”
“We’re going home tomorrow morning, Granny.”
“Good. I’m worried about Archie.”
Their waitress came by to refresh Emma’s iced tea and Phil’s coffee and to leave their check. Emma waited until she went back inside before speaking again to Granny.
“Archie? What about him?” Archie was the Scottish Terrier belonging to Emma’s family. He’d been placed in an upscale doggie hotel for the few days Emma was gone. “Is he okay?”
Phil put down his coffee. “What about Archie?”
“He’s lonely.” Granny crossed her arms. “It’s not good for him to be cooped up like that while you’re off gallivanting.”
Emma smiled, more to herself than to Granny. Like her, the dog could see and hear Granny. Emma had learned that most animals could see spirits, though few paid them any mind. But Granny and Archie had developed a close bond. At home, the ghost and the dog played together in the back yard almost every day.
“Nothing’s wrong with Archie,” Emma told Phil. “Granny misses him is all.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” huffed the ghost. “It’s just a silly animal.”
Phil turned in the direction Emma was looking. “Why don’t you pop in and visit him, Granny? I’m sure he’d like that.”
Emma shook her head. “Granny’s not allowed,” she explained. “She did that the last time we boarded Archie, and the other animals went nuts. Seems the other dogs wanted to play with Granny, too. The kennel owners had no idea what caused the pandemonium, but they were sure Archie was the root of it. Told us if it happened again, he’d not be welcomed back.”
Emma turned back to Granny. “I’ll be home tomorrow, Granny. I’m picking Archie up on the way back to the house. Then you two can have a nice long visit.”
The ghost was not mollified. “Just foolishness, that’s all.” Granny’s scowl deepened before she disappeared.
“From the look on your face,” Phil said, after taking a deep swallow of coffee, “I’d say we’re alone again.”
Emma threaded an arm through his and leaned into him. “That we are, and maybe for the rest of the trip if you’re lucky, cowboy.”
“But?”
“What but?” Emma looked at him. “Did I add a but?”
“Not in words, but I can see your mind whirring like a turbine engine. We may be alone physically, but Tessa and her problem are with us mentally. You’re thinking about the movie connection, aren’t you?”
“Guilty, counselor.” Emma looked out at the sea and sighed. “I just wish I’d brought my laptop.”
“Had you, I would have thrown it into the ocean. Hell, I’m a lawyer, and I didn’t bring mine.”
Emma looked sheepish. “I know, but I’d love to take a peek at IMDB.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. What’s IMDB?”
“The Internet Movie Database. A website containing information about movies, actors, directors, TV shows—anything and everything put on film.”
“Won’t Jackie check that site?”
Emma hemmed and hawed. “Of course she’ll check it,” she finally admitted.
“I see, but you don’t want to wait for her. You want to check it now. Doesn’t your cell have an Internet connection?”
“Yes, but websites are sometimes difficult to read because of its size.” She shrugged. “Guess there’s no harm in waiting until either Jackie calls or I get home tomorrow.”
“Except that you’ll have ants in those fancy pants of yours.”
Phil stood up. Pulling out his wallet, he dug out some bills and left them with the check. “Come on, let’s see what we can do about satisfying your curiosity.”
Phil took Emma by the hand and guided her back to their hotel. Once there, he approached the front desk.
“Do you have a business center with computers for guest use?” he asked the clerk, a young Latino in an impeccable suit and slicked-back hair.
“No, sir, I’m sorry. We have a business center but no public computers.” When they started to walk away, the clerk added, “But you might try the library. They have public computers with Internet service.”
Emma perked up. “Would the library be open today?”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s open every Saturday until five o’clock. You’ll find it a few blocks over on Sumner, right next to the police station. Do you need a map?”
Phil smiled at the young man. “We know where the police station is. Thanks for your help.”
At the library, Emma logged on to the IMDB website and did a search for Tessa North. Her name yielded a hit. Emma clicked on the link.
“It says here she was in five movies and two TV shows, all bit parts.”
Phil looked over her shoulder. “Any personal information?”
Emma moved the mouse over another link. “Here’s something interesting. Seems Tessa was born Theresa Nowicki on May 26, 1946. Doesn’t give a city, just Nebraska.”
“That would have made her twenty-two-years old at the time of her death.” Phil picked up a stubby library pencil and a scrap of notepaper from a supply kept on the desk. He started scribbling down the information.
Emma went back to the short list of films, opening each link and studying the information. On the third film, she saw a name that made her freeze. “Phil, I think I found a lead.”
“To her death?”
“I hope not, but it might lead to more information.”
With an index finger, she stabbed at a spot on the screen. It was a list of people connected with the movie. Phil read the entry out loud in a quiet voice. “George Whitecastle, director.” He turned to look at Emma, his eyes wide. “Hey, isn’t that—”
Emma cut him off. “It sure is.”
It was Phil who broke the awkward silence brought on by the discovery on the computer. “Just because your ex-father-in-law directed one of Tessa’s movies doesn’t mean he knows anything about her. She was a bit player. He might not even remember her at all.”
“I know, Phil, but maybe he will remember her. And if he does, he might remember someone named Curtis. I know it’s a long shot, but it’s worth a try. The Whitecastles are very nice people. I’m sure George will help me if he can. And look here.” She pointed to another name connected with the movie. “Paul Feldman produced this film. He’s a very close friend of George’s. I’ve known him for years, too.”
After seeing George’s name, Emma got an idea. Methodically going down the list of people involved with each movie and TV show in which Tessa appeared, she looked for someone named Curtis. Nothing showed up. But Emma knew not all people involved with films were listed. There were always people behind the scenes, money people, as well as worker bees.
As soon as they left the library, Emma called the home of her former in-laws. A maid answered and informed her that the Whitecastles were not expected home until Monday afternoon.
“Now what would you like to do, Emma?” They were standing on the sidewalk on Crescent Street. Ahead of them was the bay; behind them, the town. People walked past them in both directions. Soon it would be sundown.
Emma gave him a suggestive glance. “It’s our last night on Catalina. I say we watch the sunset, put the hot tub to good use one last time and, if so inclined, head out for a romantic dinner.” Before he could respond, she added, “The ghosts are only invited to the first part.”
“Fancy Pants, I like your style.”
“But first, there’s one last errand I need to run.”
As the sun went down on their last night on Catalina, Phil and Emma joined Sandy Sechrest on her bench. With her was another ghost, that of an elderly man whom Sandy introduced as her husband, Howard. The two couples, living and dead, sat companionably side by side and watched the sun disappear. The women were in the middle.
“I bought your pain
ting today, Sandy,” Emma told the spirit. “Just before I came to watch the sunset.”
“The one with Tessa?”
“That’s the one. I’m going to put it in my office to remind me of you and my time here on Catalina.” The ghost smiled with pleasure.
After waiting a moment, Emma asked Sandy, “Did Tessa ever tell you she was an actress?”
The spirit knitted her brows in thought. “Can’t remember exactly. She talked a lot about the movies, but I thought it only the star-struck fancy of a young girl.”
“Seems it was more than that. She appeared in a handful of films and a couple of TV shows. Nothing major, mostly bit parts in silly things. I’m wondering if that was how she knew Curtis.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you, Emma. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I have connections in Hollywood through Grant’s family. I’m going to check with them.” Emma looked at the ghost, not caring if any live people noticed. “Sandy, it has been a pleasure getting to know you. I hope we meet again. Feel free to come visit me and Granny on the mainland.”
The ghost smiled at her and placed a hazy hand on top of one of Emma’s. Emma couldn’t feel the hand but was touched by the gesture. “You’ll have to come here for those visits, Emma. Except for minor surgery about six years ago, I haven’t left my beloved island in over fifteen years.”
Emma glanced at Phil and smiled. “Guess we’ll just have to come back, then.”
Even though she knew the way, a uniformed maid led Emma upstairs and into George Whitecastle’s private study. It was the Tuesday after Thanksgiving. Emma had called George that morning, hoping to get a green light for an unplanned visit. A little over an hour later, she was kissing her ex-father-in-law on his sunken cheek.
“Thanks for seeing me, George.”
He smiled warmly at her, then shifted his frail body in his large leather chair until he found a comfortable spot. The chair was dark red and had been his favorite for as long as Emma could remember. Across his lap was a blue and gold throw sporting the UCLA Bruins logo. Like both Emma and Grant, George was an alumni of the university. Sprawled on the floor next to George’s chair was an elderly Golden Labrador, its muzzle as white as its owner’s remaining hair. The dog greeted Emma with solid whacks of its tail against the floor but didn’t get up.
Emma squatted and scratched the old dog behind its ears. “How are you, Bijou? Still standing guard, I see.” The animal licked her hand and thumped its tail a few more beats. Unsure of how Bijou would react to Granny, Emma had asked the ghost not to tag along. They would rendezvous later at Milo’s place.
The Whitecastles lived in a small mansion in Bel Air, a very wealthy section of Los Angeles just off Sunset Boulevard near the UCLA campus. Like most rooms in the home, the study was large and filled with tasteful, expensive furniture. Two of the four walls of the study were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stuffed with books, memorabilia, and awards, including two Oscars, from George’s long and illustrious career in the film industry. Beyond the bank of windows that looked down over the estate’s manicured lawn, Emma could hear the sound of a mower.
“How are you feeling, George?” Emma asked as she took a seat on the sofa closest to George’s chair.
“Eh.” George held his hand out flat and tilted it back and forth with a slight movement. “So-so.”
George had been diagnosed with lung cancer three years earlier, right after his last film was released. He’d held his own for a time, but in the last year the cancer had spread, taking no prisoners in its march to dominate his body. He’d once been a big man, strong and broad shouldered. Grant took more after his mother, whose build was slender and refined. It broke Emma’s heart to see how the disease had ravaged George’s body, leaving him a bag of bones and skin.
“Would you like something to drink, Emma? There should be some sodas and water in the fridge. Or I can have Helen bring you something else, like coffee or tea.” George indicated a small wet bar located to the left of a large wall-mounted flat screen TV. The TV was currently turned to CNN, the sound muted.
Emma got up and crossed to the wet bar. “Water’s fine. Can I get you something, George?”
George declined with a slight shake of his head. Emma pulled a bottle of sparkling water from the small refrigerator. She poured it into a crystal tumbler and returned to her seat on the sofa.
“Is Celeste home?” she asked.
“Not right now. She’s out for an afternoon of lunch and shopping with her friends. I think there’s even a trip to the spa planned somewhere in the mix.” He sighed. “The sicker I get, the more she shops. As if it’s a celebration.”
Emma felt awkward. Although she knew no marriage was perfect, in the years she’d known the Whitecastles, she’d seldom seen or heard a cross word between them. She passed off George’s remark as a bitter comment from a sick man. “I’m sure it’s just her way of coping with everything, George. Everyone has their own particular way of dealing with stressful situations.”
“And is your way going on TV with your own show?”
Emma studied George Whitecastle. His body may have been reduced to rubble, but not his quick mind and sharpshooter tongue. His days of directing movies were over, but he was still involved with the business, as evidenced by the stacks of scripts littering the desk and table next to his chair.
“Actually,” Emma explained, “the producers approached me about the show, not the other way around. A friend referred me to them. It never occurred to me until then to have anything to do with show business.”
“And how are the ratings?”
Having no doubt that George had been following The Whitecastle Report’s progress, Emma flashed her ex-father-in-law a smirk. “I’d be surprised, George, if you didn’t know them better than I do.”
The sick man let out a weak snort that deteriorated into a ragged cough. Emma stood up and went to his side. She picked up a glass of water from the table next to him and offered it, balancing the glass while he held it with shaking hands and took several long drinks from a straw, sputtering slightly between each one.
“Thank you, Emma,” he said when he was finished. He wiped his mouth with a large cotton handkerchief clutched in one hand.
“Should you be here alone?” She remained hovered in concern over the man who’d been like a second father to her.
“The maid’s here, and a nurse comes in twice a day—all day on the maid’s day off.” He pointed to a small buzzer attached to a cord next to his chair. “I just have to hit this and someone will come.” His voice was raspy. “Just that the coughing knocks the shit out of me.”
“Maybe I should come back another time?”
George shook his head. “No, my dear, no. I’ve always enjoyed your company. Damn son of mine is a fool. Should have had two daughters, not one of each. Think it’s too late to trade Grant to the Millers in exchange for you?”
Emma laughed. “Not sure my parents would find that an equal exchange. Grant’s not exactly a favorite topic with them.” After patting the old man’s arm, she sat back down on the sofa. “And how is Deirdre?” she asked, referencing Grant’s older sister.
“Fine as ever. We all went up to their home in Santa Barbara for Thanksgiving. Celeste and I stayed the weekend. Grant and his brood returned to LA Thursday evening.” His final words drifted off, as if he wished he hadn’t said them.
“Sounds lovely.” Emma tried to keep her voice even to assure George that whatever Grant did, it didn’t matter to her anymore.
“Very tiring for me, but worth it to see everyone together, even if Grant and Deirdre don’t get along that well. Deirdre’s family asked after you and Kelly. Celeste happily filled them in on Kelly’s schooling and your show.” He paused to take a breath.
“I’m tiring you.”
“Nonsense.” He waved off her concern. “Most days I sit here alone. Feels good to have an intelligent conversation with someone I care about.” He took another deep breath, this tim
e keeping the cough at bay. “You still seeing that guy from Julian?”
“Yes, I am. In fact, Phil and I went to Catalina over the holiday.”
“Catalina.” George said the word softly, tasting it like a long-forgotten favorite food.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head, with its thinning white hair and translucent skin, back against the fine grain of the leather—his skull a pale yolk in a pool of dried blood. For one startling moment, Emma thought he’d died. Then he smiled and opened his eyes.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been to Catalina. Used to go there on fishing trips with buddies, mostly from the industry. Decades ago, it was the scene of many wild parties.” George gave a little cough into the handkerchief before continuing. “Later, we went there as a family. With you and Kelly, too. Remember that?” Emma nodded. George closed his eyes again. “Happier times, that’s for sure. Or at least healthier ones.”
After giving George a moment to rest, Emma opened up the topic of Tessa North. “George, do you remember a young actress from years ago named Tessa North?”
George remained still. Emma wondered if he’d heard her. She was about to repeat the question when he asked, “Should I?”
“She was in one of your movies from the sixties. A film called Beach Party Prom.”
The mention of the film’s title caused George Whitecastle to give off a strong but short laugh, followed by more coughing. “Now there’s a title I’d hoped never to hear again.” He looked at Emma, his tired eyes circled with mirth. “Where in the hell did you ever uncover that asinine thing?”
“When I was on Catalina Island, the name Tessa North came up. Research on her connected me to that movie, then to you.”
George adjusted himself in his chair before answering. “Everyone was doing those awful teen beach movies back then. They were moneymakers, no matter how bad they were.”
“Do you remember Tessa? Her real name was Theresa Nowicki. She was a bit player in the movie—one of the beach bunnies.”
He knitted his brows and thought a minute before answering. “Sorry, neither name sounds familiar. But then I never remember extras from current films, let alone…damn, what was that…thirty-five, forty years ago?”
Ghost in the Polka Dot Bikini: A Ghost of Granny Apples Mystery Page 6