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

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  “I fetched her for you,” Granny told Emma, pleased with herself. Emma mouthed a word of thanks in her direction.

  The new spirit smiled at Emma and approached, coming to within a few feet of George Whitecastle. Bijou let out a short couple of barks and went on alert.

  George looked down at his faithful companion. “What’s the matter, old boy?” The dog looked up at its master and responded with a few soft whacks of its tail against the carpet. Then the animal went silent.

  Emma knelt down in front of her former father-in-law and took both of his hands in hers. She glanced at the spirit, then up at George. “I was wrong, George. I know now that your mistress was Denise Dowd.”

  George nodded. “I made her get the abortion, Emma. After, she found out she could never get pregnant again.” Tears flowed down his sunken cheeks. “I ruined her life. I helped support her financially for years, but in reality, I ruined her life.” He let loose a sob. “And now she’s dead.”

  “Do you have any idea who killed her, George?”

  Emma handed him a handkerchief that was on the table next to him. He wiped his eyes and nose with the cloth. “No. But sick or not, I’ll kill the bastard with my bare hands if I find out.”

  The spirit of Denise Dowd moved closer, beaming. “That’s my George.”

  Emma stood up. Staying by George’s chair, she addressed the ghost. “Who killed you, Denise?”

  George Whitecastle looked up at Emma, then off in the direction she was looking. He saw nothing.

  “Tell George I’ve forgiven him, Emma. I did many years ago.”

  Emma looked down at George, who was staring up at her, his tired, red eyes wide with surprise. “Denise wants you to know that she forgave you years ago.”

  His shock turned to a deep, bitter scowl. “Don’t jerk around an old, sick man, Emma. It’s inhumane.”

  “I’m not, George. Denise’s spirit is here right now, standing in front of you.”

  With a slow, cautious movement, George turned his head away from Emma and faced forward. “There’s nothing there. I knew there wouldn’t be.”

  “She’s there, George. I can see her.” Emma placed a hand on his frail shoulder. “Just as I could see Tessa North.”

  Denise Dowd’s ghost floated in front of them. “Tell him when we went to Mexico for the abortion, at the last minute he asked me to run away with him.”

  Emma relayed the message. George remained frozen, a cadaver waiting for his last breath to make it official.

  “He said we would live near the sea. Somewhere near Zihuatanejo, just because he liked saying the name.”

  Again, Emma repeated the ghost’s words. This time she felt George stiffen under her hand, then start to tremble.

  The spirit smiled down at George. “He wanted to name our child Gabriel or Gabriela, after Gabby Hayes.”

  Keeping her hand on George’s shoulder, Emma said to him, “She says that you wanted to name the child either Gabriel or Gabriela—”

  “After Gabby Hayes,” George said, finishing the sentence. Covering his face with his hands, George Whitecastle broke into deep sobs. His entire body shook with each one. “Forgive me, Denise. Please forgive me.”

  Denise Dowd knelt in front of the old man and put her arms around him. “Don’t you remember, I said no. I was the one who insisted we go through with the abortion and return to LA. It was me, not you.”

  When Emma finished repeating the words, George said through his tears, “She did. She was so noble. Said we had obligations. Responsibilities we couldn’t ignore.”

  The ghost looked up at Emma. “We’ve been lovers off and on since. George Whitecastle was the only man I’ve ever loved.”

  “Denise has her arms around you right now, George.”

  He looked up at Emma. “I want to die, Emma. I want to die right now and be with her.”

  Denise stood up. “Tell him not to worry. When it’s his time, I’ll be here.”

  After Emma repeated her words, George calmed down. He wiped his face again with the handkerchief and leaned back against the chair, exhausted. After a few moments, he steadied his eyes on the empty space in front of him. “Tell Emma who killed you, Denise. Tell her so we can get the bastard.”

  Emma patted his shoulder. “She’s gone, George.”

  Emma, back in her seat on the sofa, studied George Whitecastle with concern. The blood had drained from his face, and his breathing was raspy.

  “He don’t look so good,” Granny said, coming closer to get a better look at George.

  “Are you sure you’re up to this?” Emma asked him.

  “Doesn’t matter if I am or not, it must be done.”

  “Should I get someone? A doctor maybe, or call Celeste?”

  He shook his head. “Celeste went to our condo in Laguna Beach for a few days.” He drew a long breath. “I told her last night after the police questioned me that it was Denise who was my mistress, not Tessa. I told her all about it.”

  “Celeste left you?”

  “Not sure if it’s permanent or not, but at this point I’ve lost them both, Celeste and Denise.” He choked back a sob.

  “And Tessa? Did you tell Celeste about what happened to Tessa?”

  “No.”

  “How about Denise? Did she know?” Denise seemed genuinely concerned about Tessa’s death when Emma spoke with her, but Emma was learning not to trust anything in this hotbed of actors and politicians.

  “No, not even her. I’ve never told anyone. But I want to tell you.”

  While Emma got up and fetched George a fresh glass of water, Granny floated around the room. She came to a halt in front of a cluster of photographs on a shelf.

  “Look here,” the ghost said, pointing to one of the photos. “It’s Curtis.”

  After handing George his water, Emma joined Granny. It took her a minute to notice what Granny had already seen; then her eyes and her brain clicked in unison. It was a photo of George with Paul Feldman and Worth Manning taken years before. The three men, wearing bathing trunks, were standing on the deck of a moored boat, hoisting beer bottles in the air for the camera. Across the stern of the boat was painted the boat’s name: Curtis Lee.

  Emma picked up the photo and brought it back to George. “Whose boat is this?”

  George glanced at the photo, then looked away. “It belonged to Worth. He named it after his father, who died in the war.”

  “Tessa North’s ghost is on Catalina, waiting for Curtis to return. Curtis isn’t a man. This is the Curtis she’s waiting for, isn’t it? Or if she is waiting on a man, he was on this boat the day she died.”

  George said nothing, just continued to look away.

  “Come on, you old coward,” Granny said, floating in front of him. “Out with it.”

  Emma frowned at Granny and indicated with a toss of her head for her to move away. Granny scowled but complied.

  “Did Senator Manning kill Tessa?” Emma asked George.

  “Tessa’s death was an accident.”

  “Then why all the secrecy? An accident shouldn’t be a reason for a four-decade cover-up.” Emma leaned forward, eager and ready to catch the answer like a thrown ball.

  “We had our reasons. Even now, if this comes out, people will be irreparably harmed—perhaps even destroyed.”

  Emma couldn’t believe George still entertained the idea of keeping Tessa’s death a secret. Even the ghost of the first Mrs. Manning knew that ship had sailed. “Not if, George. When. With the police investigating Denise’s death, it’s just a matter of time before it all comes out.”

  “But we don’t know Denise’s death is connected.”

  “No, but in all likelihood it is.” Emma leaned against the wet bar and looked at the boat photo again. “Would the same person who killed Tessa have killed Denise?”

  George moved his head slowly in the negative. “Impossible.”

  She looked down again at the three friends. “Because you don’t want to believe it’s possible or th
at it is truly impossible?”

  “Impossible means impossible,” George said, raising his voice.

  “Celeste told me that after the Kennedy murder, you stayed home for days.”

  “That’s true.”

  At that point, Emma’s cell phone rang. She went to her bag and pulled it out. The display showed Phil Bowers was calling. “Will you excuse me, George?”

  He waved a hand, indicating for her to take the call. Emma moved to the bank of windows overlooking the grounds. Granny shifted back near George, as if standing guard.

  “Fancy Pants,” Phil said, “it’s going to be virtually impossible to find that boat based on the information you have.”

  “That’s okay, Phil. I just found out the information I needed. Thanks though.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I’ll tell you later. I’m at my in-laws’ right now. We’ve located Curtis.”

  “Was it a boat like you thought?”

  “Sure was.”

  “In-laws or no in-laws, you be careful. It’s still a double murder.”

  “Don’t worry, Granny’s with me.”

  “Uh-huh. And when was the last time Granny threw a punch that anyone felt?”

  “Understood.” Emma closed the phone and went back to George.

  “That your friend in Julian?” George asked.

  “Yes, it was.”

  “So he knows about this too?” George did not sound pleased.

  “He was with me when I encountered Tessa North, George. He’s the one who first insisted she was murdered and dumped forty years ago.”

  “He sees ghosts too?”

  Tessa smiled at the thought. “No, he doesn’t, but he believes in them.”

  “And who’s this Granny person? Another ghost?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. She’s the one who brought Denise’s spirit here.”

  George started to say something sarcastic, but his recent encounter with Denise Dowd stopped him. Instead, he eyed Emma with caution mixed with awe.

  Emma put her phone on the coffee table and sat back down on the sofa. Granny settled on a leather chair across from George.

  “George,” Emma began, “you obviously got me over here to tell me something, but I sense you’re stalling. What are you waiting for?”

  “He’s waiting for us.” The voice came from the doorway. It was Worth Manning. The dog, familiar with the man, wagged its tail a few times but never left its post next to George.

  As Emma watched, stunned, Senator Manning came into the room, followed by Helen. He addressed the maid, “Mr. Feldman is running late for our meeting. Please show him up as soon as he arrives.”

  With a nod, Helen retreated, closing the door behind her.

  Granny drifted over to Emma. “It’s the skunk. I don’t like this at all.”

  Although she’d known these men for years, Emma now had information on something serious that they were trying to keep hidden. A trickle of fear ran down the back of her neck. Getting up, she went to stand by the wet bar again, feeling less vulnerable on her feet. Granny moved with her like a personal guard dog. George picked up on Emma’s change of mood immediately.

  “Please don’t be afraid, Emma. No one’s going to hurt you. I just felt if you heard the story, it should come from all of us. As I told you, I wasn’t there. My part was to cover it up.”

  She looked at George. “You moved Tessa’s things and sent the postcard to Denise?”

  “Yes. Denise had given me a key to their apartment when we first starting dating. I knew the other girls were off for a few days filming. We moved Tessa’s things out, and I personally got on a plane to Nebraska to send postcards to a few folks to make sure no one got suspicious.”

  George turned to Manning. “Worth, why don’t you make yourself a drink. Helen brought in fresh ice earlier.”

  When Manning walked over to the wet bar, Emma shifted away from it. He grinned at her discomfort—a fox making a hen nervous. He poured Scotch over ice, swirled it around in the squat crystal glass, and drank half on his first drink. Before taking the leather seat across from George, he topped off the glass with more booze. Emma noticed when he crossed one long leg over the other that his foot twitched. It was the first time she’d ever seen Worth Manning nervous.

  “So,” she said, “someone killed Tessa by accident? If it wasn’t either of you, it must have been Paul Feldman.”

  “No, Emma,” Manning answered. “None of us killed Tessa. And it was an accident.”

  “As I told George, it’s just a matter of time before the police find out about it. I’ve told them about Tessa.”

  “They will find nothing, Emma,” Manning continued. His voice was cloaked in even tones despite the jiggle in his foot. “She’s a girl who returned home.” He took a quick sip of his drink. “Anything else is nothing more than a ghost story—something for late-night musing in front of a fire.”

  Granny leaned toward Emma. “His arrogance is as thick as apple butter. I bet he done that poor girl in. I’m ready to string him up right now.”

  “Speaking of ghosts.” Emma ignored Granny and looked straight at Worth Manning. “Your first wife seems adamant, as well, that this not come to light. Any thoughts about that?”

  At her words, Worth straightened up and sniffed the air like a nosey prairie dog looking for signs of danger. “My first wife? Margaret’s been dead nearly thirty-five years.”

  “I know about the dead part, Senator. You see, her ghost has been visiting me. A very unwelcome ghost, I might add. She even threatened my life. But fortunately for me, ghosts cannot physically harm the living.”

  “You’re insane!” Manning shouted.

  Granny flew to Manning. “You stop yelling at Emma, you old snake.”

  George started on a deep, painful coughing riff. Both Emma and Worth went to George’s side. Emma helped him take some water. Next to George’s chair, the old dog moved into a sitting position, alert and worried.

  Granny calmed the animal down. “It’s okay, boy.” Bijou settled back on the floor.

  Manning screwed up his face in anger, almost baring his teeth at Emma. She could smell the Scotch on his breath. “Can’t you see your nonsense is making him worse?”

  “He called me here.” Emma put the water glass down on the table after George’s coughing lessened.

  George held up a spotted hand to stop the bickering. After a few more coughs, he spoke. “I did ask Emma to come here today, Worth. Just as I asked you and Paul.” He pounded his fist on the arm of his chair. “And where in the hell is Paul?” He coughed again.

  “How the hell do I know? He just called and said he’d be late.” Worth left George’s side and started pacing up and down the floor of the study. “This is my problem, George, not yours. You should have asked me before spilling your guts to her.” He pointed at Emma.

  “No. Listen to me.” George picked up the cane next to his chair and stomped it on the floor a few times. “If we’re going to contain this problem, we need her cooperation and help.”

  “Contain?” Emma backed away from her former father-in-law. “Surely you’re not asking me to help conceal Tessa’s death?”

  Granny stood between George and Emma, her arms crossed in defiance. “My Emma doesn’t roll like that.”

  Emma’s anger was momentarily derailed by her shock over Granny’s use of words, but she couldn’t say anything about it in front of the men. And now wasn’t the time.

  Manning started to say something, but George cut him off with a look. With a growl, Manning sat back down in his chair and picked up his drink.

  “Emma,” George reasoned with a thick voice. “The girl has been dead a long time. It wasn’t intentional, I can assure you. But people’s lives will be ruined if it comes to light. Whole careers of good works down the drain. Futures destroyed.” He took a minute to clear his throat. “Pursuing this will not bring the girl back, but could, in fact, be devastating on a bigger scale.” He paused, waiting for the
import of his words to sink in, then added, “She had no family. No one’s really missed her for forty years.”

  Emma stared from one man to the other in disbelief. “Are you saying that Tessa North was disposable? That she didn’t matter because she didn’t come from money and position and wasn’t earmarked for greatness?”

  George Whitecastle shifted in his chair. “Sometimes, Emma, sacrifices must be made for the greater good.”

  “I highly doubt, gentlemen, that Tessa North knew that her death, accident or not, was for the greater good.” Emma could feel her rage boiling, her face growing hot to the touch. “Maybe you should have asked her if she wanted to make that sacrifice before you killed her!”

  “You tell them, Emma.” Granny bounced from one booted foot to the other like a prize fighter.

  “No one killed her intentionally!” Manning shouted, quickly getting to his feet.

  Bijou emitted a low growl at the sudden elevation of emotion. Emma communicated to Granny with her eyes to handle animal control. The ghost knelt beside Bijou and cooed, and the animal quieted.

  “There was an argument on the boat,” Manning started to explain. He turned down the volume on his voice after glancing at the old dog. “A very heated argument. Someone took a swing at someone else with a gaff—you know, the hooked poles used to pull fish into the boat. The gaff hook caught Tessa, who was trying to stop the fight, in the side of the head. As she fell, she struck her skull hard on the railing.” Emotionally drained, he dropped into his chair and took a long drink. “You happy now?”

  To Emma, the story wasn’t complete. “So who swung the gaff?”

  The two old friends looked at each other, but neither offered up a name.

  “Was it Tony Keller?” asked Emma. “Was that why he committed suicide several months later?”

  George answered, “Tony’s suicide had nothing to do with this. He was in the hospital when Tessa died, drying out.”

  “He was an alcoholic?”

  “Booze, drugs, even gambling,” Manning added. “Studios wouldn’t work with him anymore. He’d tanked his entire career.”

  Eyeing Manning with suspicion, Emma tried another avenue. “Boats moored in Avalon Bay are pretty close together. Are you saying no one saw or heard all this?”