Ghost in the Polka Dot Bikini: A Ghost of Granny Apples Mystery (10 page)

“Peter, could you please bring me a martini. You know how I like them.”

“With pleasure, Mrs. Whitecastle.” He turned to Emma, awaiting her instructions.

“I’d like some herbal tea, Peter. Your special blend, if you have it.”

As soon as they were alone again, Emma leaned forward. She could see Celeste was disturbed. “Are you all right, Celeste? Perhaps we should go?”

With a delicate hand, Celeste waved off the suggestion. “No, dear, I’ll be fine. It’s just…well….” Celeste lifted her shoulders, then dropped them. “How can I put this?”

“Take your time.”

Their drinks arrived. While Emma let her tea steep, Celeste swirled the olives in her delicate glass a few times before taking a taste. She followed up with a second sip, this one longer.

After putting down her glass, the older woman looked around, making sure no curious ears were tuned their way. Then she turned her eyes on Emma. “The truth is, I never met Tessa North, but I know who she is…or was at one time.”

Emma had just taken another bite of her salad. She paused mid-chew and stared at Celeste while sorting through her thoughts and matching them with Celeste’s words. She didn’t know if George had said anything to his wife about their conversation the day before or not. She swallowed her half-chewed food with a big gulp. Celeste answered the unasked question.

“George told me you were asking him about Tessa—something about her being a ghost on Catalina Island. Is that correct?” The cocktail seemed to be steadying Celeste.

Emma nodded while she washed her food down with some hot tea. She watched Celeste with eagle eyes. It was obvious the subject of Tessa North meant something to the woman. “Yes. I came across her name during some research. I just wondered if you and George knew her.”

Celeste took a long drink of her martini. One more gulp and she’d be done with it. “I never met the girl in person, but I knew all about her.”

She waved to Peter to prep another drink.

“Why don’t you eat a little, Celeste,” Emma coaxed.

Like a child following orders, Celeste took a small bite of chicken and greens, chewed, and swallowed. With effort, she took another small bite. She drained her martini just as Peter appeared with her second. She swirled it around but didn’t drink. Instead, she stared straight into Emma’s eyes.

“Tessa North was almost my Carolyn Bryant.”

“What?” Emma heard Phil
say through her cell phone earpiece, his voice full of disbelief.

“That’s what Celeste said. Seems that not only did George know Tessa, but the two were hot and heavy, almost to the point of breaking up his marriage.”

“So George lied to you. Didn’t it occur to him you might ask his wife?”

“Hard to say. Or maybe he thought she’d never say anything. After all, to the world they are the gold standard of Hollywood marriages, and image is very important to Celeste. He might have thought she’d be too proud to admit she’d almost lost him to a younger woman.” Emma checked her watch, making sure of the time.

“Then again,” added Phil, “George is dying. Maybe he didn’t care.”

“Another good possibility.”

Emma was sitting in her car in the parking structure next to the building that housed Hyland Staffing, Fran Hyland’s company. She was a little early for her appointment, so she returned the voicemail Phil had left her while she was with Celeste.

Celeste’s comment about Tessa
had landed on the linen-covered table with all the crash and drama of plane debris falling from the sky. Emma’s mouth hung open so far and for so long, she’d started to cough. Celeste took a sip of her fresh martini while she waited for Emma to find her voice.

Pushing aside her salad, Emma leaned across the table. “What exactly do you mean by that, Celeste?”

The waiter came toward them to whisk the salad plate away, but Emma held up a hand that stopped him and turned him around.

Celeste popped an olive in her mouth and chewed it slowly, weighing what she was about to say now that she’d opened a can of worms.

“Just what it sounded like, Emma. If George told you he didn’t know Tessa North, he was lying. I never met the little tramp, but I knew all about her. She was carrying on with George, and he was totally smitten. Friends of mine saw them out together quite often. Fortunately, the paparazzi wasn’t relentless like it is today, so photos of them didn’t show up all over the newsstand like Grant and Carolyn’s affair.”

“It obviously ended. Do you remember when?”

“Not exactly. But one night, George came home and announced that he’d gotten his mistress pregnant.” Celeste fixed her eyes on Emma. “Sound familiar?”

Emma was so stunned she went temporarily brain dead. Finally, she forced out the next question she wanted to ask. “So George was going to leave you and marry Tessa?”

“No. I decided to leave, but he pleaded with me not to. He said he would take care of the bastard child when it was born, but that the affair was over. He said it had been a big mistake and begged for my forgiveness.”

“So you did—forgive him, I mean?”

“Not fully, but in time we found our way again. We had built a life together and with our children. And the public was less forgiving of a straying husband back then. It could have hurt George’s career.”

Emma played with her teaspoon as she gathered more scattered thoughts and glued them together. “Celeste, I don’t mean to be indelicate, but over the years there’s always been rumors about George and…”

“And other women?”

“Yes. Grant used to tell me about some of George’s activities.”

Celeste pushed her martini glass away without finishing her drink. “Yes, there were others—many others. George was always falling into bed with one actress or another. But those were just flings, Emma, and for the sake of our family and for the sake of my own comfortable lifestyle, I kept my mouth shut. I knew he’d come back to me after each one. But Tessa was different. George was mesmerized by her, and the baby almost cinched the deal.” Celeste leaned forward. “Tessa was playing her game, the same game Carolyn Bryant played. But I played it better.”

Celeste leaned back in her chair. “Did you know that George was married when he met me?”

Emma shook her head in disbelief, wondering when the revelations were going to stop. She was getting dizzy from mental whiplash. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, I stole him right out from under his mousy wife’s nose. They didn’t have children and hadn’t been married long, but as soon as I met George Whitecastle on the set of a movie, I knew I wanted him. Quite frankly, had it not been me, it would have been someone else. His first wife wasn’t cut out to handle his future success. He needed someone who knew the business—not just the glamorous side but the hard work and ugly politics that come along with being on top in Hollywood.” Celeste bobbed her head, a rueful smile stretched across her face. “Tessa North was trying to play a game I had already mastered.”

“So you never knew what became of Tessa or of her baby?”

“No, and I didn’t care. For all I know, she had the bastard, and George has been supporting them all these years. Or maybe she found another sorry sucker and was more successful with him.”

After waving the waiter back over to clear their dishes, Celeste pulled her martini glass back toward her. “You said Tessa’s a ghost on Catalina. Tell me what that means exactly.”

“In my research for a future show about the ghosts of Catalina Island, I came across her name, but not much else. Further research connected her to one of George’s movies.”

“If she’s a ghost, then she’s dead. Correct?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what it means.”

“Do you have any idea when she died?”

This time Emma fudged the truth. “No, not exactly.”

Celeste narrowed her eyes at Emma. “Don’t toy with me, Emma. I’m old, but I’m not stupid. Your show, that brooch, the way you knew Edmund was dead—if there is such a thing as ghosts, then I’m thinking you’ve met Tessa’s.”

After a long pause, Emma nodded. “I have. She’s called the bikini ghost. She died quite young on or near Catalina Island.”

Celeste scoffed. “Catalina. Might as well have been called Sodom and Gomorrah in those days.”

“And I’m pretty sure Tessa died a few days after Robert Kennedy was shot.”

That got Celeste’s attention. “Really?” Celeste toyed with her remaining martini olive. “Are you sure Tessa died shortly after the Kennedy assassination?”

“Pretty sure. Why?”

“Did you actually see her? Tessa’s ghost?”

Emma fixed her eyes on her ex-mother-in-law, leaving no doubt to what she was about to say. “Yes, Celeste, I saw Tessa North’s ghost with my own eyes.”

Celeste looked around before leaning forward. “How did she look? I mean, if she’d been pregnant when she died, would her ghost look pregnant?”

The significance of what Celeste was asking alerted Emma. “I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I think so. Ghosts tend to look like they were when or just before they died. Tessa’s ghost wears a polka dotted bikini and has a terrific figure.”

When Celeste didn’t say anything more, Emma pushed. “How long before the assassination did George tell you she was pregnant?”

Celeste’s mind pushed through the booze to do the calculations. “She would have been eight or nine months pregnant around the time Kennedy was killed. Unless, of course, she was already several months along before George told me. Then she would have recently had the baby.”

Emma let herself slump against the back of her chair. She needed time to let the information meld like flavors in a stew, but instead found herself cooking on her feet. If Tessa had a child, why hadn’t she mentioned it? Emma recalled the ghost’s figure. Even though hazy, it didn’t look anything like one that had just had a child.

Peter came by and asked if they cared for dessert. After declining, he had the young waiter bring them the check. Emma put down a credit card, and it was swept away for payment.

After the waiter left, Emma decided to do more digging. “Weren’t you and George at the Ambassador the night Robert Kennedy was killed? I’m sure I’ve heard George talk about it a few times over the years.”

Celeste nodded, her eyes sad. “Yes, we were, along with many of our friends.”

“I imagine the Feldmans and Mannings were with you.”

“Yes, of course. We even stayed at the hotel that night. All of us were very involved in Kennedy’s campaign, especially Worth and his son, Stuart.”

Emma wanted to know George’s whereabouts after the shooting, but knew she had to ask carefully. His name wasn’t Curtis, but she wanted to make sure George Whitecastle wasn’t in Catalina during the time Tessa died. “That must have been very traumatic—that night and the days that followed.”

“It was.” Celeste fingered the rim of her glass. “I don’t think George or I left the house for nearly a week afterwards, we were so devastated. The TV was on nonstop. I cried for days.”

If Celeste was telling the truth, then George hadn’t been in Catalina. While it didn’t mean he knew nothing about it, at least he wasn’t there. And he wasn’t the one Tessa was waiting for.

“Another name came up during my research, Celeste. Tessa was connected somehow to a man named Curtis—not sure if that’s a last name or a first. Do you remember anyone by that name hanging out with George or his friends?”

Celeste took a final sip of her martini as she mulled over the name. “I don’t recall anyone by that name. Maybe he was another married lover. Maybe he killed Tessa because she’d become a liability.”

“Wow,” said Phil when
Emma finished telling him the details. “That was quite a lunch.”

“Tell me about it. I’m not even sure Grant knows his dad was married before.”

“But you know, Celeste might be on to something. Maybe this Curtis fellow dumped Tessa, hurt and dying, on the island to get rid of her. Didn’t she say there was a loud noise and blood? Maybe he shot her and left her to die.”

“Hmm, and maybe Celeste had her bumped off. I hate to say this, Phil, but with all the lies being bantered about, anything’s possible, even the most unlikely.”

Century City isn’t a
real city at all but an area on the west side of Los Angeles known for being the entertainment business district. Besides housing Fox Studios, Century City is also home to a mall, luxury hotels, and several well-known restaurants, and its high-rise office buildings accommodate many businesses that cater to show business in all its forms.

After finishing her call to Phil, Emma checked in with Jackie. Sandwiching calls in between her duties for the travel show, she’d been working her way through the Nowicki listings she’d found, but so far had not had any luck reaching many people. Those she did, didn’t remember anyone by the name of Theresa Nowicki or Tessa North.

Hyland Staffing was located on the twenty-third floor. From a search on the Internet, Emma had discovered that it was an employment agency specializing in providing temporary and permanent staffing of all kinds, from assistants to chefs to drivers, to businesses and individuals that required a higher level of professionalism and discretion from employees.

When Emma presented herself to the receptionist in the lobby, the young woman promptly handed her a clipboard with an application. “Do you have a résumé with you?” she asked Emma.

Before Emma could answer, a very stylish older woman came out into the lobby. “I’m afraid Mrs. Whitecastle isn’t here for a job, Cassie.” The woman held out her hand to Emma. “I’m Fran Hyland.”

After the two women shook hands, Fran Hyland led Emma down a short corridor and into a large and beautifully appointed corner office with a spectacular view of the Hollywood sign.

“You’ll have to excuse Cassie, Mrs. Whitecastle,” she said after Emma was settled in a chair and she had taken a seat behind her spotless desk. “We so seldom see anyone but applicants here in the office.”

“You don’t see potential clients here?”

“Most of my clients are very famous or powerful people. They expect me to go to them.”

“Of course.” Emma set her shoulder bag down on the chair next to the one in which she sat. From it, she pulled her small notebook and a pen. “Let me get right down to why I’m here, Mrs. Hyland.”

“That’s Ms. Hyland, if you please. My married name is Kilgore, but I never use it professionally.”

“Fine, then, Ms. Hyland.” Emma cleared her throat. She had no doubt that Fran Hyland was efficient at matching employers with employees, but she worried that Fran would be too formal or concerned with protocol to dish any useful information about Tessa. Only plunging ahead with questions would tell. “As I said on the phone, I’m here about some research I’m doing on Tessa North. You knew her when you were both acting, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I knew Tessa. We were both blond and pretty and, well, rather curvaceous. We often auditioned for the same parts.”

Studying Fran Hyland, Emma could see that in her youth she must have been a knockout. Even in her sixties, the skin on her lined face was beautiful, and her eyes clear and bright. Her figure, dressed in an impeccable navy blue St. John knit suit, was still fairly trim, and her smartly cut hair was a glossy silver. Her only jewelry consisted of a fine gold watch, diamond stud earrings, and a gold circle brooch fastened just below her left shoulder.

“How long did you remain in acting?”

“I stopped acting shortly after I turned twenty-five. Parts became scarce when I became too old to play a sorority girl or beach bunny. Truthfully, I didn’t have the talent for anything with more substance. I was a pretty face and figure, and not much more, I’m afraid. Soon after, I got married. I started Hyland Staffing nearly twenty years ago.”

“Did you know Tessa well?”

“Well enough. It wasn’t unusual for a group of girls to share an apartment. I didn’t room with Tessa myself, but one of my best friends did, so I saw her frequently.”

“Do you know whatever became of Tessa North?” When speaking to Fran Hyland on the phone, Emma had edited out the part about ghosts on Catalina Island. In meeting the woman, Emma felt it had been a wise decision. The woman definitely didn’t appear to be ghost friendly. “From the records, it looks like she’d been getting steady work, then disappeared in the late sixties.”

Ms. Hyland folded her hands on her desk and leaned forward, one eyebrow arched like an ash-brown rainbow. “Why the interest in a girl who was only in Hollywood a few years?”

“I’m doing research for a show, and her name came up a few times. I found it curious that she simply disappeared. Tessa was in several of the beach movies in the sixties; so were you. In fact, the two of you worked on a movie for George Whitecastle, my former father-in-law, didn’t you?”

“Yes, we did.” Fran Hyland leaned back in her chair and swiveled to look out the window. “I always assumed that Tessa left Hollywood and went back home. She was from somewhere in the Midwest, I believe. She talked about it all the time when we were all together.”

“Was there any specific reason why she might want to leave?”

Ms. Hyland swiveled back around to face Emma. “It was a very tough business for a young woman, especially a pretty one. A lot of predators, drugs, broken promises, and shattered dreams. It’s still pretty much the same way now.”

“Your friend, the one who roomed with Tessa—is she still in Los Angeles?”

“Yes. She’s still doing some acting, too, though mostly she waits tables. She’s sixty-three years old, no family, lives in a crappy apartment in Culver City, and still thinks she’s going to make it big.” Ms. Hyland tossed Emma a cynical smirk. “Over the years, I’ve tried to offer her better paying positions, but she says she’s happy where she is.”

“I’d like to talk to her, if I could.”

“Her name is Denise Dowd.”

Emma nodded in recognition. “I believe I came across her name at the same time I found yours.” It was true, Emma recognized Denise Dowd’s name from Jackie’s list of actresses. “I left her a message but haven’t heard anything back yet.”

“Doesn’t surprise me that you already have her name. There was a core of us in the mid to late sixties that were always hired whenever they needed a chorus of jiggling sexpots in the background. Offscreen, many of us lived together, like our own little sorority.”

“What about some of the others, Ms. Hyland? Do you know where they are now?”

Fran Hyland shook her head slowly. “The only ones I kept in touch with over the years were Denise and Cynthia Small. Cynthia died a couple of years ago. She landed a small recurring part on a soap that lasted several years. After that, she drifted out of the business, got married, and settled in the valley.”

Hyland swiveled around in her chair again and studied the view for a moment. When she turned back to Emma, she seemed to have made up her mind about something.

“Denise works second shift at a restaurant on Pico Boulevard near Sawtelle—a place called Bing’s. You might try her there. She always enjoys rehashing the old days.”

Emma jotted the name and location of the restaurant in her notebook. “I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me, Ms. Hyland. A few more questions and I’ll be out of your way.”

“My pleasure, Mrs. Whitecastle, and if you find out what happened to Tessa, please let me know. I’d love to get in touch with her again.” Fran Hyland gave Emma a tight smile as she handed her an embossed business card. “And, of course, if you ever find yourself in need of hiring an assistant or other type of help, please keep me and my company in mind.”

Emma took the card and nodded graciously before posing her final question. “Do you recall if Tessa was involved with anyone romantically?”

Ms. Hyland frowned, noticeably agitated around the edges by the question. “Difficult to remember anyone specific. We were all very young and attractive. There were always lots of men flocking around us.”

“What about someone in power, say, like George Whitecastle or Paul Feldman?”

The frown turned ugly as Fran Hyland sat up straight in her chair. “Is that what this is all about? Are you trying to pin some ancient peccadillo on George Whitecastle? According to the trades, he’s nearly at death’s door. Are you planning on writing some tell-all book now that he’s dying?” She stood up, sending her chair sliding backwards. “Is that your idea of revenge for what his son did to you? Or didn’t you get enough money in the divorce?”

“Calm down, Ms. Hyland. That’s not my intent at all.”

“I’ve built a thriving business keeping people like you away from the rich and famous, and now you’re here pumping me for information?” Fran Hyland’s voice had transformed into a low growl laced with outrage. “You’d think you’d know better, seeing that you’re a TV personality yourself these days. I only talked to you because you’re part of the Whitecastle family.”

“I promise you, Ms. Hyland, this has nothing to do with a tell-all book, movie, nothing like that. I simply want to know what happened to Tessa North.”

“Get out, Mrs. Whitecastle.” When Emma tried to say something more, Fran Hyland pointed toward the door, the long painted nail at the end of her index finger showing the way like an emergency beacon. “Leave now or I’ll call security.”

Back in the car,
Emma called Phil again. “Guess what?” she asked as soon as he came on the line. “I was just thrown out of an office in Century City.”

“Why are you surprised, Fancy Pants? When we met, I threw you off my property. You just have that initial impact on folks.”