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

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  Emma touched the brooch and laughed. “This was a gift from Phil Bowers. He gave it to me while we were on Catalina.”

  Jackie walked back to the painting and stared down at it. Emma let her be, allowing her to mull over the information at her own steady pace. After a full minute, Emma added, “She was about your age when she died.”

  Jackie continued staring down at the painting. “But we haven’t found any information on her death.”

  “That’s true. But, Jackie,” Emma said with conviction, “she’s dead, just the same.”

  Another long moment passed in silence before Jackie turned away from the painting and fixed Emma with a somber face. “Sounds to me like she was murdered.”

  “That’s what we’re all thinking. We being me, Milo, and my friend Tracy. Even Phil came to that conclusion.”

  “And you all are thinking this senator and George Whitecastle might have had something to do with it?”

  “We don’t know, Jackie. We just know that they knew her quite well.” Emma showed her the photo again. “And we know she disappeared shortly after this photo was taken.”

  Again, Jackie retreated into her thoughts and went back to studying the painting. “What do you think she’s waving at?”

  “Milo,” Emma said into her cell phone, “it’s me. Have you met Sandy Sechrest yet?”

  “No. We haven’t been in Catalina very long. We just dropped our bags off at the hotel and are strolling down Crescent Avenue, hoping to bump into Tessa. Granny’s gone on ahead to try and find her.”

  “I’m not sure if Sandy comes out much until sunset, but when you do see her, I need you to ask her a question for me. It’s very important.”

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “Ask her—”

  “Wait a minute,” Milo said, cutting her off. “Let me write this down to make sure I get it right.” Emma could hear him talking to Tracy. A second later, he was back. “Okay, shoot.”

  “Ask Sandy about her painting—the one I bought with Tessa in it. She should remember which one.” She stopped while she listened to Milo relaying her words to Tracy, who was probably jotting them down. “In the painting, Tessa is waving at something or someone.” She paused again. “Ask her if that’s what she remembers Tessa doing when she first saw her, or if it was her interpretation for the sake of the painting.”

  “That’s an odd question.”

  “Yes, and I’m sorry I didn’t notice it long before now. In fact, I didn’t notice it; Jackie, my assistant, did.” Emma smiled at Jackie, who was kicked back on the loveseat once again with Archie, listening to Emma’s excited phone call.

  “If Sandy painted exactly what she remembered Tessa doing when she first saw her, it might help us somehow. It’s a long shot, but you never know. Maybe Sandy can recall what Tessa was waving at, or maybe you can jog Tessa’s memory when you see her.”

  “It’s definitely a lead we didn’t have before.”

  Before ending the call, Emma gave Milo a sixty-second rundown of her meeting the night before with Worth Manning. At first hesitant to talk in front of Jackie, she finally decided hiding things from her at this point would only make her more suspicious. As Emma talked to Milo, Jackie’s face remained a blank, but her eyes broadcasted an intense interest. At the end of the conversation, like Phil, Milo told her to be very careful.

  The plan was for Emma to drive her SUV to the body shop, with Jackie following behind her. Then they’d go to lunch, and after, Jackie would bring Emma back to the house. Emma had no doubt that their lunch conversation would be interesting. She was also glad the unhappy ghost hadn’t made an appearance. She had enough explaining to do.

  As Emma was backing out of the Miller driveway, a dark blue Jaguar pulled in behind her, blocking her exit. Looking in the rearview mirror, she groaned.

  Grant Whitecastle hopped out of his car, slammed the door, and strode to Emma’s driver’s side. When he spotted the words painted on the side of her vehicle, he stopped in his tracks, pulled off his sunglasses, and stared at them.

  Emma lowered her window. “What are you doing here?” Try as she might, she couldn’t keep the snappishness out of her voice.

  Grant looked at Emma, then back at the side of her SUV. He shook himself to get his mind back on his purpose. Tucking his sunglasses into the neck of his shirt, he moved directly in front of her window.

  “I came to ask you what in the hell you think you’re doing, bothering my parents and their friends with all this ghost bullshit.” He pointed at the paint job. “But I see someone else has beaten me to it.”

  “I’m on my way out, Grant. I don’t have time for one of your tantrums.”

  “You leave my parents alone, Emma.”

  “Is that an order from them or from you? Seems to me they were happy enough to see me. In fact, your mother was quite chatty. Both told me they wished they saw more of me.”

  Grant stared at his ex-wife, his face going scarlet with anger.

  “If they tell me to go away, Grant, I will,” Emma continued. “But I’m taking no orders from the likes of you. Those days are over.”

  Grant smacked the side of Emma’s SUV with his fist. “I said, leave them alone!”

  “And you leave Emma alone.”

  Both Grant and Emma swung their heads in the direction of the voice. It was Jackie. She stood, hands on her hips, a few feet away from Grant.

  “Who the hell are you?” Grant Whitecastle roared at Jackie.

  Emma shoved her door open, forcing Grant to back away. She climbed out of the SUV and faced him. Next door, a neighbor came out of her home to watch the scene unfold on the usually quiet street. Across the street, a man watched from a parked car. She didn’t recognize the car, but the man behind the wheel looked vaguely familiar. The last thing Emma wanted was to put on a show for the neighborhood, but Grant wasn’t the type to back down, with or without grace.

  “That’s Jackie, my assistant,” Emma told Grant, shaking a finger at him. “And don’t you dare yell at her. Yell at your own assistant, providing you can keep one long enough. How many have you been through this season, Grant? Three? Four?”

  Glaring at Emma, Grant directed his words at Jackie. “This is none of your business, girl. Get lost.”

  “Girl?” Jackie stepped closer. “And if it concerns Emma, it is my business. So why don’t you get your pompous ass back in your Jag before I call the cops.”

  “Okay, everyone,” Emma said, holding her hands out and working hard to keep her voice steady. “Let’s all calm down. There’s no need to escalate this.”

  Grant Whitecastle sneered at Jackie Houchin. “Hear that?”

  “I was talking to both of you,” Emma said, stepping into her irate mother mode.

  Emma glanced over the hedge at the elderly neighbor who was standing half hidden behind one of her rose bushes. “It’s okay, Mrs. Collins,” she called out. “No need to be alarmed.” But Emma knew her parents would get an earful when they returned. She turned back to her ex-husband.

  “Grant, I merely asked your parents about an actress they might have known years ago; that’s it. As for ghosts, that’s my gig these days, if you haven’t noticed.” She drew a breath. “Besides, neither George nor Celeste seemed all that upset that I talked to them. So I don’t know what they’ve told you.”

  “I didn’t hear it from them, Emma. I heard it from someone else. I heard how you badgered my poor dying father until he was so upset he almost stopped breathing.”

  “What?” Emma stared at Grant with an open mouth. “That is not what happened, Grant Whitecastle. Your father has trouble breathing because he has cancer, and you know it. In fact, he was laughing during my visit more than anything. So who’s telling you such lies?” As her voice started to climb, she fought to bring it in check, even if her blood pressure was about to blow. “I demand to know.”

  “Someone who is a hell of a lot more concerned about the Whitecastles than you are, that’s obvious.”

  E
mma stepped close to Grant. Being close to the same height, she could look him directly in the eye, which she did. “I have been more considerate about the Whitecastle family and its name than you have ever been.” Her voice was a low, threatening growl. “It wasn’t me who dragged our dirty laundry into the tabloids, and don’t you forget it.”

  “Stay away from my family, or else.”

  “Or else what?”

  Before Emma knew what was happening, Grant grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her back hard into the side of the SUV. As she hit, she let out a cry and slid to the ground. At the same time, Jackie launched herself at Grant, landing on his back like a hungry parasite. She wrapped an arm around his neck and wrestled him to the ground. Emma was trying to pull them apart just as a police car slid to a stop behind Grant’s Jaguar.

  “Oh my god, I had no idea we were being filmed.”

  Emma sat in disbelief as she watched the video of Grant shoving her, followed by Jackie riding him like a nag at Santa Anita. The police getting involved was the icing on the rotten cake. She was watching the full uncut version of the snippet run on Access Hollywood the night before, the evening of the day it had happened. The serious news programs had run the story, too, but did not have the video because the paparazzi who’d shot it had sold exclusive rights to the entertainment news show. It was just a matter of time before still shots showed up in the tabloids. The cameraman had even managed to get several clear shots of the side of Emma’s spraypainted SUV. The story had been tagged The Whitecastle War Continues.

  “It’s okay, Emma,” Jackie said, putting a fresh mug of coffee in front of her boss. “You heard what the suits said. It will be good for the show. People who’d never heard of The Whitecastle Report are sure to watch it now, or at least give it a try. They’ve even picked up more episodes and might run it twice a week.”

  “You don’t understand, Jackie.” Emma ran her hands through her hair. “My daughter saw this last night, and so did her friends. It was humiliating for her.”

  Kelly had called her mother last night, having seen the news feature before Emma with the three-hour time difference. She’d not been amused to see her parents brawling on national TV, although she understood that the likelihood of Emma starting it had been slim. Phil had called her, too. He hadn’t seen the video, but his aunt Susan had. She’d called him, upset and worried for Emma’s safety.

  “She’ll get over it, Emma,” Jackie told her, which was exactly what Phil had told her. “She’s not the first kid to see her parents fight in public, and she won’t be the last. My aunt and uncle once had a brawl on the front lawn that lasted so long, the neighbors actually brought out lawn chairs to watch in comfort.”

  “You’re making that up.”

  “Sadly, I’m not.” Jackie sat down opposite Emma.

  Emma picked up her coffee to take a drink but put the mug down without doing so. So many things were happening at once. Her brain felt shattered, each shard running off in a different direction to pursue a different issue. She picked up a pen and started jotting down points to be addressed individually, thinking that by separating each problem, she’d be able to keep track of them better.

  “Okay,” she said, tapping the end of the pen against the first item on her list. “First of all, the video. What was that all about? I don’t recall a car driving up while we were…um…conversing with Grant. Do you? There was a car parked across the street, but I never saw anyone with a camera.”

  Jackie shook her head. “No, but we were occupied.” She pointed at Emma’s list. “Don’t you think we should tackle item three first? Isn’t that the most important issue right now?”

  “I’m saving the worst for last.”

  “I see.” From Jackie’s tone, Emma could tell she didn’t agree with her plan of action.

  Jackie took a drink of her coffee before continuing her thoughts on item one. “It’s common for paparazzi to stalk celebrities. The creep probably followed Grant around, hoping he’d be his usual jerk self. And boy, did he hit the jackpot. We just never noticed his car drive up after Grant got there.”

  The theory sounded reasonable to Emma. Except for when she was in the middle of her messy divorce from Grant, the gossip hounds hadn’t paid much attention to her. It stood to reason that this guy was following Grant and got lucky. He could probably put a kid through college for what Emma imagined he got paid for the video and photos.

  “I think you may be right there,” she told Jackie. “He was probably in the right place at the right time—at least for him.” She moved the tip of the pen down to the second item on her list. “Next, who told Grant I was at his parents’ home, if not his parents?”

  “How about Worth Manning?” Jackie answered. “Of course, providing that ex of yours was telling the truth.”

  “He was. I called Celeste this morning. She said she and George were very upset and sorry about what happened yesterday. She also told me that neither of them had said anything to Grant about my recent visits. In fact, neither have seen or spoken with him since Thanksgiving.” Emma looked at Jackie. “And I believe them.” What she didn’t tell Jackie was that Celeste had politely suggested that Emma refrain from contacting them until Grant cooled down.

  They were at the office at the studio where The Whitecastle Report was filmed. Saturday or no Saturday, the special meeting with the show’s producers that morning had been mandatory. And even though the studio was thrilled with the publicity the incident had garnered for Emma’s show, it still felt to Emma like she’d been called into the principal’s office. She seemed to be the only one not happy with the negative publicity, feeling it put The Whitecastle Report on a similar level with Grant’s show.

  “It could also have been Paul Feldman.” Emma jotted both names down next to the second bullet point. “He arrived just as I was leaving. Either one of them are likely candidates.”

  “Was anyone else in the house when you visited George?”

  Emma started to shake her head, then stopped. “A maid was there,” she recalled. “She showed me into George’s study, asked if we needed anything, then left. I assumed she went downstairs. Never saw her again. When I left, I let myself out.”

  “Was the maid someone who’d been with them a long time?” Jackie asked with interest. “If so, she could have told Grant, thinking she was looking after George’s welfare.”

  Emma gave it some thought. “I’d never seen her before. They had one head maid for a very long time named Ivy, but she retired a few years ago. They also have a few part-time employees. I only saw the one maid when I was there. Except for her and George, the house appeared empty.”

  Jackie was perched on the padded arm of a chair. Swinging a long leg over one arm, she slid down into the seat. “Do you think that Hyland woman or Denise Dowd would have said anything? Those were the only other two you’ve spoken to, right?”

  “That’s the entire list.” Emma jotted Fran Hyland’s name under Feldman’s. She did not write down Denise Dowd’s but instead circled point number three. “And that brings us to the third problem at hand.”

  Emma stared down at her third and final bullet point: Denise Dowd Murdered!

  Denise Dowd had been murdered just hours after Emma had seen her at her apartment. The police had found Emma’s business card on the coffee table. When the studio informed them that she was working from home, they’d shown up at the Miller residence to question her. After breaking up the fracas between Emma, Grant, and Jackie, they’d questioned each of them. Grant, knowing nothing about Denise Dowd, had been the first to be released, but not until receiving a stern warning to stay away from Emma.

  When Denise didn’t report to Bing’s for her shift or answer her phone, someone from the restaurant went to her apartment to check on her. They’d found her on the kitchen floor in a pool of blood, compliments of a nasty knife wound to her chest. The knife was missing. There’d been no indication of a forced entry or of burglary, nor had Denise fought back. The attack had be
en swift and unexpected—a likely breech of trust on the part of someone Denise knew.

  It was initially determined that the time of death had been sometime between when Emma left her, which was close to noon, and four o’clock. When a neighbor came forth to say he remembered seeing Denise around one thirty, it narrowed the time frame even more. Fortunately for Emma, that was the same time period she was with Milo and Tracy. The police checked her alibi, including checking the time the police report was made about the vandalism to her vehicle.

  When questioned about why she was with Denise that morning, Emma told the police Denise was helping her research an actress from the sixties who had been a friend of Denise’s. Emma said nothing about ghosts, but the detective, a tall, slender, middle-aged African-American man named Tillman, easily made the connection from Emma’s occupation to the vandalism and asked her point-blank if the person she was researching had something to do with the paranormal. Emma didn’t lie. She gave them Tessa’s name and her theory that Tessa was a ghost haunting Catalina.

  She and Detective Tillman were seated in the living room, with the detective occupying the same chair Worth Manning had used the night before. Another detective was questioning Jackie in the den.

  Emma had been grilled before about murder. It had been in Julian when she was researching Granny’s past. She knew that generally police took a dim view of ghost stories. In the Julian matter, one detective had been patient and listened; the other had been scornful. Emma had learned to be careful when bringing up ghosts to the authorities. At the same time, when asked who besides Denise Dowd she’d spoken to about Tessa North, Emma didn’t hesitate to rattle off the names of all concerned. She might not offer up information, but she wasn’t going to conceal it, especially since she had no idea what Jackie was telling the other detective. And it wasn’t lost on her that one of the people she’d talked to might have been Denise’s killer and the person behind the warning scrawled across the side of her SUV.

  “Tell me, Mrs. Whitecastle,” the detective said. “Do you have any reason to believe that the vandalism to your vehicle and Ms. Dowd’s murder are related?”