Ghost in the Polka Dot Bikini: A Ghost of Granny Apples Mystery (14 page)

The angry spirit swirled
through the room as it had the night before, but this time with a specific purpose. Its target: the painting. The strong current of cold air buffeted and shook the painting, threatening its stance against the wall. In two steps, Emma reached it before it could crash facedown to the floor.

“Is this about Tessa North?” Emma asked the ghost as she clutched the painting against the swirl of forceful air.

“Tell us what you want,” Granny demanded. “Or at least have the decency to show yourself.”

“I know you’re upset about something,” added Emma. “But we can’t help if you don’t let us.”

“Noooooooooooooooooo.” The sound came from the air like wind whistling through a tight space.

“No, you don’t want our help?” Emma leaned the painting back against the wall but stood in front of it to keep it from falling. “Or no to the painting? Did you know Tessa North?” She hugged herself against the cold created by the presence of both ghosts and wished she was dressed in more than a snug knit tank top.

“Noooooooooooo!” The word was clearer this time, accompanied by a strong gust that pushed against Emma like storm blasts from the sea. She held out her arms against the force and took a step back, careful not to crush the painting. Papers from the desk took flight and scattered. Mugs lined up on the kitchenette counter rattled. The drapes lifted. Archie jumped off the loveseat and tried to cower behind it.

Granny moved to the center of the room. “Behave yourself or leave,” she said to the spirit. “I’ll not have you frighten Emma this way.”

“No, don’t go,” Emma called out to the strange spirit. She turned to Granny. “It’s all right, Granny, I’m not frightened.” Emma turned her head, rotating it to scan the room for any sign of the spirit. Focusing on what appeared to be a hazy cloud, she ventured, “We’re here to help you. You have to trust us.”

The churn in the air calmed to a mild breeze. As if thinking it over, the almost-invisible cloud moved through the room, wafting back and forth. At one point it approached Emma, getting once more close to her face. Emma felt her cheeks grow cold, as if she’d stuck her face into the freezer to scout ice cream possibilities. When the spirit pulled back, Emma’s face warmed again.

Archie poked his nose out and whined. The misty cloud moved toward the animal. Granny moved protectively between the spirit and Archie.

Emma held her breath. “Please,” she begged quietly, “don’t frighten him anymore.”

“Don’t worry, Emma,” Granny said, sticking her chin out in defiance. “I won’t let her.”

The hazy apparition started taking shape but still did not reveal itself. Emma could now see the outline of a female, but no details. The strange ghost stood in front of Granny, facing her, then tilted its head down to look at the unfortunate Archie.

“I would never harm a dumb animal,” the ghost said in a barely discernable whisper.

“Archie’s not dumb,” Granny snapped.

Raising its head, the ghost studied Granny, then bluntly dismissed her by turning around and drifting over to Emma. “She doesn’t need you,” the ghost said.

“Who doesn’t need me?” Emma wasn’t sure if the ghost meant Granny or Tessa.

“The girl. The picture.”

“You mean Tessa North?”

“Leave her be.”

“Who are you? How do you know Tessa?” Emma moved closer to the spirit but didn’t want to stray too far from the painting.

While the unknown spirit remained blurred in its appearance, its message was distinct and sharp. “Forget about her!” This time, the ghost’s voice rattled the windows of the guesthouse. Archie whimpered. Emma stepped back, nearly falling onto the painting. “She’s dead, and nothing you can do will change that.”

Bracing a hand against the wall, Emma straightened herself and stood her ground, letting the apparition know she would not be bullied. “She needs to cross over. You have, haven’t you? So why not let her do the same? Let her rest in peace.”

The ghost floated away. When it reached the door, it swirled in a gust and swooped down on Emma and the painting again. More papers flew through the air. When the spirit was once again nose to nose with Emma, it snapped, “It’s the living, not the girl, who need peace.”

Emma was about to say something when her cell phone, which was sitting on the desk, rang. She inched over to it, afraid to leave the painting lest the ghost try to damage it. She grabbed the phone and quickly resumed her place wedged between the painting and the ghost. “Hello.”

“Emma? This is Worth Manning. I was told you were looking for me.”

“Why, Senator, what a surprise.” Emma kept a wary eye on the ghost as she spoke. The spirit, done with trying to scare Emma, drifted around the room, restless and agitated. Granny stayed by Archie.

“A nice one, I hope.” He chuckled, his deep voice resonating over the phone line.

Emma wondered how he’d gotten her number. She knew Jackie would never give out her private line. It had to have been George. “Yes, of course, a nice surprise. You must have heard from my assistant.”

“Yes, she called my office and left a message that you wanted to set up an appointment.” There was a slight pause on his end. “I hope you don’t mind, but I asked George for your number.”

“Did George also tell you what it was about?” As the visiting ghost disappeared into thin air, Emma sighed with relief.

Granny cooed to Archie, “The big bad ghost is gone, little fella. Come on out.”

Manning chuckled. “He said something about Tessa North and ghosts. Is that correct?”

“Yes, it is. Do you remember her?”

“It was a long time ago, but I do recall a young woman by that name.”

Emma wasn’t surprised by his admission. Sure the three men had by now met and decided upon a mutual story, it seemed the senator had been chosen as the one to spoonfeed it to her. She left her post by the painting and sat down at her desk. “Do you have time to meet with me tomorrow, Senator?”

“How about now? I’m right in front of your parent’s home.”

This she hadn’t expected, and it caught her off-guard.

“Emma, you there?”

A small cough escaped her lips. “Yes, Senator. Sorry. Frog in my throat.” She stood up. “You’re here? Right now?”

“I hope you don’t mind, but I had business earlier in Pasadena so thought I’d swing by before going home. I tried the doorbell, but no one answered.”

“I’m out back, in the guesthouse. Give me a minute and I’ll come to the front door.”

After disconnecting the call, Emma looked at the painting. She was worried the ghost would come back and try to damage it, and Granny couldn’t protect it like she could. Finally, she decided to slip it back into its shipping box and lay it flat on the floor. That way, it couldn’t fall if the ghost decided to cause a small tornado.

When she opened the front door of the house, Worth Manning stood on the other side. Of the three men—George, Paul, and himself—he’d been the most elegant in his appearance. At just over eighty years old, he still stood over six feet tall, with ramroad posture only slightly bent by age. His hair was white as snow and worn back away from his angular face, which was furrowed with wrinkles. Unlike George’s once-beefy build, Worth was slender with wide, strong shoulders. It looked to Emma like the man still worked out to keep his physique.

Archie, at Emma’s side, barked at the stranger. “Hush, Archie,” Emma commanded.

Worth Manning looked Emma up and down with a predatory eye, taking in her form-fitting exercise clothes. For the second time in less than an hour, she wished she’d worn something less revealing, but this time for a different reason.

Dressed in dark slacks, a dress shirt, and sports jacket, the former senator looked confident and collected. Emma looked beyond him to where his black Mercedes was parked at the curb under a streetlight. He appeared to be alone. The drizzle that had fallen most of the day appeared to have stopped.

“Please come in, Senator.”

As Emma stepped aside, Worth Manning entered the Miller residence and followed Emma and Archie into the formal living room.

“Can I get you anything?” she asked, indicating for him to sit anywhere he’d like.

“I’m fine, Emma. Thank you.” Manning lowered himself into an upholstered chair with a high back and crossed one long leg over the other. Archie sniffed at the shoe remaining on the carpet. Manning reached down and let the animal nose his hand before moving to scratch the dog behind his ear. Archie’s tail wagged.

“Please excuse me a moment,” Emma said. When she returned, she had on the cardigan sweater her mother kept in the kitchen against drafts. “Thank you for waiting. I was a bit chilly.” She took a seat on the sofa.

“Working out?”

“I was about to. Our guesthouse was converted into a home gym. I’m afraid we can’t hear the doorbell out there.”

“Then it’s a good thing I called.” He gave her a slow, assured smile—the type of smile that comes naturally to people used to being in power.

Keenly aware that coming to her home was an offensive move meant to keep her off-balance, Emma sharpened her senses and prepared herself to hold her ground. It also made her think more seriously about the three friends being behind the painting of her car.

“I was sorry to hear about Mrs. Manning. My mother told me she passed away last fall.”

“Thank you, Emma. Nasty stroke. We never saw it coming. Fortunately, Linda did not linger.” Manning looked around. “Where is your charming mother?”

“She and my equally charming father are on a cruise.”

The comment netted her a smirk. Emma felt awkward. She’d met Worth Manning many times while married to Grant, but she’d never spent time alone with him. And now she was about to ask him some uncomfortable and very personal questions. Deciding she might never get the same opportunity, she met the situation head-on.

“As George might have told you, Senator, I came across the name Tessa North doing some research for my show.”

“Something about a ghost on Catalina Island, that correct?”

“Yes. Supposedly Tessa’s ghost haunts Catalina. Seems she might have died there some forty years ago.”

As the room started growing cooler, Emma pulled the sweater closer. Archie moved away from the senator and curled up in a corner of the room. Glancing over, Emma spotted Granny. She was glad Granny had retreated to a far corner, taking the coldness with her. From there, she could hear and see everything without making the immediate air around the living chilly.

Emma returned her attention to the senator. “You said you remember her.”

“Vaguely, yes.”

“I understand some of you saw each other socially—that there were several men, including you and George, who hung around a specific group of young actresses back then.”

“Did the ghost tell you that, Emma?” The question was gift- wrapped in sarcasm and tied with a wink.

“No, the ghost did not, Senator.” Emma’s words were pointed. “But others remember.”

A small sardonic smile crossed his lips. “There were always willing young actresses—one of the perks of the business, both show business and politics.”

Emma fixed him with a stern, no-nonsense look. “I’m not judging you, Senator, or anyone. I just want to know what you remember about Tessa.”

Manning leaned his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes. “Tessa, Tessa, Tessa.” The words came out like a mantra.

“I don’t like this man, Emma,” Granny whispered to her as if Manning might overhear. “And I don’t like that you’re here alone with him.”

While Manning was lost in contemplation, Emma glanced over at the corner and shook her head a little, trying to convey to Granny that she’d be fine.

“As I recall,” Manning began, opening his eyes and looking at Emma, “Tessa was a very sweet thing. Blond, I believe. Whatever became of her, I have no idea. I remember hearing that she’d returned home.”

“Did you have an affair with her?”

“Yes, I did. It was fun but short-lived.”

The blunt honesty surprised her, and her reaction was noticed by Manning.

“Don’t look so shocked by my confession, Emma. Especially since you already knew the answer before you asked the question.” He uncrossed his leg and leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs, his hands clasped casually between them. “My wife is dead. I’m no longer in the Senate, and the fling was over more than forty years ago. So what’s the harm now in owning up to it?”