Ghost in the Polka Dot Bikini: A Ghost of Granny Apples Mystery

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  Emma noticed Manning tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair, a signal he was about to cut her off. “You were at the Ambassador Hotel the night Robert Kennedy was shot, weren’t you? You and Mrs. Manning were there with George and Celeste and several of your other friends.”

  Manning was noticeably surprised by the sharp turn in the questioning. Tilting his head slightly, he studied Emma, wondering what she was up to. “Yes, a lot of us were there. As a politician in the Democratic Party, it was also my duty to be there.”

  “That must have really shaken you up, Senator. Your political career was really starting to take off about then, wasn’t it?”

  He gave a hearty laugh. “What? Now you’re going to insinuate I had something to do with Kennedy’s death?”

  Emma smiled. “No, of course not. It’s just that Tessa disappeared shortly after Robert Kennedy was murdered.”

  “So you think maybe she had something to do with the assassination? Who knows, maybe she was Sirhan Sirhan’s accomplice and lover.” His amusement was as solid as a brick.

  “After Kennedy’s death, what did you do?”

  “We were all questioned by the authorities. Horrible night; absolutely horrible—for us, for the entire country.”

  “What about the days following the murder? You would have been very upset. Maybe you went over to Catalina to relax, to try to forget for a few days what had just happened?”

  Manning stood up. “I must be going, Emma. Sure you won’t join me for dinner?”

  Emma stood with him. She had other questions but could see she was being dismissed. Unless she followed him to dinner, she would have to end her interrogation. “Thank you, Senator, but I do have other plans.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Granny giving her a thumbs up.

  At the front door, they exchanged a handshake, with Emma thanking him for his time. But Manning did not immediately let go of her hand. Instead, he held it firmly, enclosing it in a two-handed grasp.

  “I always heard, Emma, that Tessa North packed it in and went back home—another Hollywood dream dashed. Now, don’t you think that’s a much more reasonable explanation than all this ghost nonsense?”

  “Tell you what, Emma,” Phil said in an inviting tone. “Why don’t you come on down to Julian tomorrow and stay the weekend? You can work on your cabin. Start decorating it so it’s ready for your family for Christmas. I’m sure Aunt Susan would love to make plans with you for everyone’s visit.”

  “I know you, Phil. You just want me to cool things down with my Tessa research.”

  “Yes, I do. But I also want to see you. Unless you already have plans with a certain former US senator.”

  “Phil, please. He’s more than thirty years my senior.”

  “Maybe, Fancy Pants, but he recognizes quality female flesh when he sees it. Remember, he was a big time alpha wolf in his day, and it sounds like he still enjoys baying at the moon.”

  “As inviting as a trip to Julian sounds to this quality female flesh, I have to take care of my car tomorrow.”

  “Something wrong with the SUV?” Alarm slipped into Phil’s voice. “Did you have an accident of some kind?”

  Darn, Emma thought. She didn’t mean to let anything slip about the vandalism. In bringing Phil up to speed on everything she’d uncovered and about her exchange with both the unknown ghost and Manning, Emma had carefully edited out the spraypainting of her SUV. She knew it would worry him.

  “No, no accident. Just some vandalism. Kids probably.” She cringed as the half lie escaped her lips.

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing really, just a little spraypaint.”

  “Fancy Pants.” He stretched the two words out into a full sentence.

  “Someone just sprayed a few words across the side of the Lexus. That’s all.”

  “What words?”

  “Nothing.”

  “If it’s really nothing, you’d tell me. Do I have to drive up there tonight and see it for myself?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Then you stop being evasive.”

  Emma knew good and well that Phil Bowers was stubborn enough to jump into his truck and drive all the way to Pasadena tonight from San Diego just to see what she was avoiding telling him.

  “All right,” she said in frustration. “Cool your jets.” She took a deep breath and held it as if jumping into deep water. When she released it, she said in a series of nonstop words, “When I was at Milo’s today, someone spraypainted the words leave the dead alone across the side of my car.”

  There was a short silence on Phil’s end, then the sound of a throat clearing. “And you consider that nothing?”

  “I realize it’s not nothing, but I’m not sure what to make of it.”

  “It’s a warning, Emma. A big one. Surely you know that.”

  “Of course I do. But it doesn’t make me want to stop looking into Tessa’s death—just the opposite. Now I want to know exactly what happened and who’s involved.”

  Jackie Houchin looked Emma’s SUV over in silence, her eyes wide pools of ink. “That’s some tag job. You sure it has something to do with this Tessa ghost? Could be about you in general.”

  “About ninety percent sure,” replied Emma. “Milo Ravenscroft is ninety-nine percent positive.”

  “Can’t argue with stats like that.” Jackie handed a large, thick, brown envelope over to Emma. “Here’s the latest mail. There’s also some stuff from the producer in there that he wants you to look over for next season.”

  Emma took the envelope, and together the two women headed into Emma’s office in the guesthouse. The day was overcast and gray, but no rain fell like the day before.

  “Thanks for bringing this over, Jackie. And for helping me with the car.”

  When Emma told Phil that she was going to call her insurance company in the morning, he’d asked her to reconsider.

  “I don’t know what your deductible is, Emma, but you might be better off getting a new paint job on your own, even if it’s more than your deductible. You had a loss on your insurance just over a year ago. This could make your premiums go through the roof. Get an estimate or two, then crunch the numbers before calling your insurance company.”

  It was sound advice. With Tracy on her way to Catalina, Emma called Jackie and asked if she’d come to the house and help her with the car. She told her they could work there and threw in the offer of a nice lunch. Seeing that it was Friday, she sweetened the pot with Friday afternoon off. She’d already called a few body shops recommended by her dealership and settled on one her father had used before.

  Jackie, a young African-American woman in her mid-twenties, shrugged off her bomber jacket as soon as she entered the guesthouse. “No problem. Always happy to get out of the office for a field trip.” She looked around the guesthouse-turned-gym-turned- office. “And this is a lot nicer than my cubicle at the production office.”

  “There’s juice and water in the little fridge,” Emma told her. “Help yourself.”

  While Emma sorted through the papers in the envelope, Jackie grabbed a bottle of water and settled onto a nearby recumbent stationary bike.

  “The numbers for both Senator Manning and Paul Feldman are in there,” she told Emma as she started a slow, relaxed pedal. “Look for a blue sheet of paper.”

  Emma picked out the blue page. On it were printed three phone numbers for Paul Feldman and one for Worth Manning. Feldman’s were his cell, home, and office. There were addresses for both men.

  “Wow,” Emma said to Jackie. “You hit the mother lode with Paul Feldman.”

  Jackie gave her a sly smile. “Turns out my boyfriend’s cousin works in the administration office of the studio that handled his last two projects. Feldman is only semi-retired. The number for Worth Manning is actually the office of Kenmore Holt, his agent or manager—not exactly sure which. But Holt handles bookings for peeps on the speaking circuit, including Manning.”

  “So it was Holt
or his office that would have told Senator Manning that we were looking for him.”

  “That’s who I left a message with. Sorry I didn’t get you hooked up directly to the senator.”

  “No problem.” Emma held up an elegant ivory business card. “The senator gave it to me last night himself. He said his office told him I was looking for him. He must have meant Holt’s office.”

  Jackie stopped pedaling. “Last night? You saw him last night?”

  “Sure did. He showed up here, right on my doorstep. My ex-father-in-law is a close friend of the senator’s. He gave him both my address and my cell phone number.”

  “Okay,” the young woman said, leaning forward and fixing her eyes on Emma with laser accuracy, “level with me. Do Feldman and Manning have anything to do with this Tessa ghost? Or is this something else?”

  It was a delicate question. Emma wasn’t sure what to share with Jackie. She trusted her with the show’s research and even with her own personal information, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to connect George and his friends to a possible murder beyond her own circle of friends. Yet she didn’t want to lie to Jackie either. She also knew Jackie was resourceful and that one minute on IMDB and she’d make the same connection to George and his buddies that Emma had. And then there was the whole question of Jackie’s disbelief in ghosts. Would she think Emma nuts if she told her? It was a tough call.

  “I’ve discovered that they knew her at one time,” Emma admitted. “And I’ve been asking them some rather personal questions.”

  “So you think your own father-in-law and his friends had something to do with your ride being tagged?”

  “I’m not sure, Jackie. It could have been one of Tessa’s other friends I’ve talked to in the last few days.” Emma put her elbows on her desk and cupped her face in her hands. “It seems unlikely though. Everyone I’ve talked to is in their sixties and seventies. The senator is eighty.”

  “That doesn’t mean a thing, Emma.” Jackie made a scoffing sound. “There’s any number of fools who’d wield a paint can for twenty bucks. Forty will get you artwork. It’s just a matter of giving them the cash and location of the vehicle.”

  Jackie dismounted from the bike and came to stand in front of Emma’s desk. She was almost as tall as Emma but not as slim. She dressed very hip and wore her mahogany-colored hair clipped close to her skull, which accentuated her high cheekbones and long, graceful neck. Her large eyes studied Emma from behind trendy rectangular-shaped glasses. “Something about this has been bothering me.”

  Emma looked up and knew Jackie would never buy any half-baked story. In spite of her youth, she was savvy and could read people too well. But Emma didn’t want to offer anything up until she knew what was on Jackie’s mind. “And that is?”

  Jackie moved over to the loveseat and plopped down next to Archie. The animal nudged her for attention and she complied, rubbing him behind the ears while she spoke. “I thought you wanted to do a story about ghost sightings on Catalina Island.”

  “I do. That’s what all this is about.”

  “No, it’s not. The only ghost you’ve mentioned at all is this Tessa girl. You’ve not had me look into any other sightings, just background on Tessa North—who she knew, her family. I’ll bet even that Tony Keller guy you asked me to research is tied to her, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, he was one of her friends,” Emma admitted. “By the way, did you find anything on him?”

  “Yes, I did. It’s in a folder in the package I gave you.”

  Emma sorted through the mail until she found a thin folder. Inside were a couple printouts of news articles.

  “There’s not much,” Jackie reported. “Seems like a straightforward suicide. Guy shot himself. Left no note, but friends and his agent claimed he’d been despondent for quite a while. Had been drinking heavily and unable to work. Too bad, too, because he seemed to have a promising career.”

  Scanning the articles, Emma took note of the date of Tony Keller’s suicide. “Hmm, says he killed himself in early February of 1969. That was just eight or nine months after Tessa died.” She looked up at Jackie. “And what about Jack Nowicki?”

  “I reached him and fed him the lines you gave me.” Jackie shook her head. “What a poor excuse for a human being. He started screaming that his sister was a whore. Said only whores go to Hollywood. When I asked if he’d seen her since she left or did he know where she was now, he said no but added as a footnote that if he ever did see her again, he was going to beat the evil out of her.”

  Emma pursed her mouth in disgust. “Lovely.”

  “Which brings us back to my original question.”

  The young woman’s boldness made Emma want to smile, but she didn’t lest Jackie interpret it as condescension. Jackie’s demeanor demanded that she be taken as an equal, and Emma was thrilled to treat her as such. Other TV hosts and producers had found it off-putting, preferring assistants with a more subservient nature. Jackie didn’t believe in cowering before demanding celebrities and TV personalities, and it had caused her to be shuffled between several shows until she landed with Emma and the travel show. Emma had no doubt that while Jackie’s forthcoming personality might be causing her some difficulties early in her career, down the road it would serve her well when she was running her own production company. It was just a matter of time before Jackie Houchin made a name for herself in television.

  In answer to Jackie’s inquiries, Emma got up and went to the closet. She pulled out the box containing the painting and uncovered it, displaying it to Jackie.

  “This is a painting of the beach in Avalon.”

  Jackie nodded. “I recognized it immediately. I’ve been over there many times.”

  Emma pointed to a figure in a pink polka dot bikini. “That is Tessa North.”

  After gently moving Archie aside, Jackie got off the loveseat and kneeled in front of the painting for a closer look. She ran her dark fingers with their neon nail polish lightly over Tessa’s image, as if reading her history in Braille.

  “Are you sure?” Jackie said, looking up at Emma.

  “Yes.” Emma went to her desk and produced the photo Denise had loaned her. “See, this is her back in 1968. And here is George Whitecastle and Worth Manning.” Emma moved her finger to another man. “And this is Tony Keller.”

  “But this is just a painting with a girl in a bikini. Her face isn’t clearly defined. Could be anyone.” Jackie’s eyes scanned the painting, taking in every detail. “Guess black people didn’t go to the beach in those days.”

  Emma smiled, but before she could say anything, Jackie pointed at the date and signature in the corner. “And look at this. This was painted in 2006. There’s no way the artist, this Sechrest person, could know that was Tessa North.” Jackie turned her eyes back on Emma. “So how could you?”

  This was the fork in the road Emma dreaded. She could either tell Jackie the truth or fabricate something that sounded more reasonable than the truth, followed by feeling bad for lying.

  Emma propped the painting against a wall. “Jackie, we need to talk.”

  While Emma rolled her desk chair closer to the loveseat, Jackie resumed her place next to Archie. The animal was happy to have her back. In Emma’s hand was one of the books she’d bought in Catalina.

  “This painting was done by a woman named Sandy Sechrest,” Emma explained. “The scene is from the summer of 1968, about the time Tessa North went missing, and I believe she died. Sandy Sechrest could see ghosts, and she remembers seeing Tessa’s ghost on the beach that summer. She set it down in a painting so it wouldn’t be forgotten.” Emma opened the book and handed it over to Jackie. “See here? This is a description of Sandy’s sighting of the bikini ghost, or Tessa North.”

  Jackie read the piece in the book noted by Emma. “So you met this Sechrest woman on Catalina and she told you about Tessa?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Kind of?”

  “Sandy Sechrest is now dead.” Emma scooted her chai
r closer to the suspicious Jackie. “Jackie, when Phil and I were on Catalina Island last week, I met both the ghost of Sandy Sechrest and the ghost of Tessa North.”

  In response, Jackie hopped up from her seat and strode to the wall of windows, where she stood looking out at the Miller back yard. Emma let her be, knowing the intelligent woman was processing the information like a fine-tuned computer chip.

  A few minutes later, Jackie said, without turning around, “You know, even though I don’t believe in such things as ghosts, I knew there was something odd going on with you—something connected more personally to the show than just you being the host. Every now and then, I’d overhear you talking to someone who wasn’t there.” She turned to face Emma. “I always believed you were on your Bluetooth. Guess I wanted to believe it. That Milo guy? I always thought he was your connection to such craziness, then I started wondering if you had a direct line yourself.”

  When she paused, Emma leaned back in her chair like a therapist on the clock and asked, “So how do you feel about it, Jackie?”

  It was obvious Jackie was not totally caught off-guard, but shock edged her like a thin outline. “Not sure. Do you believe ghosts are always around you? Do you think they’re here right now?”

  From her questions, Emma realized that while Jackie didn’t believe in ghosts, she was taking Emma’s personal revelation seriously.

  “No, none are here right now.” Emma wondered if she should tell Jackie about Granny Apples but decided that tidbit of information could wait until the two of them could be properly introduced. She leaned forward. “Jackie, you don’t have to believe in the existence of ghosts to work for me. I’ll respect and honor your disbelief if you respect my abilities and my privacy concerning them. It’s not something I advertise.”

  Jackie gave it several moments of thought before looking back at Emma. “Cute ghost pin,” she finally said, noting the diamond brooch on Emma’s shirt. “If that’s the membership badge, sign me up.”