Ghost in the Polka Dot Bikini: A Ghost of Granny Apples Mystery (20 page)

“You were right,” Milo began. “We found Sandy Sechrest last night, and she remembers distinctly that Tessa was waving when she first spotted her. Told us she thought it peculiar.”

“She recall what Tessa was waving at?”

“No, just that it was out toward the sea. Sandy is a delight, by the way. I wish I’d known her when she was alive.” Milo sighed. “I would have liked to have given her confidence in her clairvoyant abilities. Sounds like she hid them most of her life.”

“Sometimes I wish I’d hidden mine better,” Emma told him. “Seems like the whole world now knows that I can see ghosts. I’m not sure I like that.”

“You’ll learn to adjust to it over time, Emma, and people close to you will accept it.”

“I have,” Tracy called out.

Emma wasn’t so sure she wanted to adjust to everyone knowing about her clairvoyant talents, yet she’d just asked Milo’s advice on how to expand them. She was going deeper into the spirit world, pulled by something she couldn’t explain and propelled by her need to seek the truth and justice. She’d fussed at Phil for wanting to ride to her rescue, yet she herself was championing the dead and forgotten. It wasn’t all that different, except that she could take care of and speak for herself, and the dead needed help from the world they’d left behind.

“We also found Tessa this morning,” Milo continued. “Granny was very helpful in convincing her to talk to me. Both Granny and Sandy had to assure her I was a friend of yours.”

“Did you ask her about the waving?”

“Sure did.” He chuckled. “After giving me an eye roll like it was the dumbest question she’d ever heard, she told me she was waving for Curtis to come get her. Said she waves every day and that she knows that one day they’ll see her.”

“They?”

“That’s what she said. It was specifically a
they
.”

When the missing piece fell into place in Emma’s head, it was a nearly audible
clunk
. Emma shot straight up out of her chair, almost dropping the phone. “I just had a thought, guys. What if Curtis isn’t a person—what if it’s the name of a boat?”

“You know anything about
boat registration?”

“No,” Phil admitted, “but if you hum a few bars, I could fake it.”

Emma groaned at the stale joke. “Seriously, you interested in helping?”

Phil Bowers grunted on his end of the phone. “This mean you want me to come up there?”

“No,” Emma said firmly. She fingered her ghost pin. “It means I could use your help with some research.”

“Personally, I know nothing about boats, but I have several buddies in San Diego who live and breathe by them. Tell me what you need.”

After her call with Milo and Tracy, Emma had left the studio and headed to Bing’s, where she had lunch and tried to hold an impromptu séance in the ladies’ room. Lunch was good, the restaurant not very busy, but her attempt to call Denise to her failed. From there, she went to Denise’s apartment. She parked next to a dumpster in the alley, proving Tracy wrong—that she
could
park illegally. Getting out of her mother’s car, which she was using while hers was in the shop, Emma stood in the carport directly under Denise’s apartment and tried again. This time, however, she only succeeded in calling attention to herself when someone came out the back gate and demanded to know what she was doing. Mumbling something about looking for her lost cat, Emma pretended to scout the area for the nonexistent feline before finally climbing into her car and taking off.

Now she was in her guesthouse office. Before her was the Sandy Sechrest painting. She was hoping that somehow Sandy’s subconscious had caused her to put names on the boats she’d painted moored in the harbor. To her dismay, no names on the boats were clear. All Sandy had touched in with her brush were some flicks of black to indicate names on the sterns.

“I need,” Emma explained to Phil, “to know if ownership of a private boat can be traced through the boat’s name if you don’t know the registration number. And, if so, how far back we can search.”

“Meaning, if it is searchable, do the records go back, say…forty years?”

“You read my mind, cowboy.”

Emma leaned back in her desk chair as she explained to Phil the possible theory that maybe Curtis was not a person but the name of a boat. “It’s a long shot, but we really don’t have anything else to go on.”

“The thing about Tessa waving toward the boats does add come credibility to the idea, but it still doesn’t give us a clue as to who might have been on the boat or who brought Tessa there in the first place.”

“Not unless we can identify the boat’s owner.”

At that moment, a spirit entered the guesthouse. Emma went on alert, ready to protect the painting. When Archie, who was in his spot on the loveseat, started whining with excitement, she relaxed. Soon Granny materialized. Emma tossed her a smile and wave before returning her attention to Phil.

“If Curtis isn’t a real person, George and his pals would have been telling me the truth when they said they knew no one by that name.”

Again, Phil grunted. “They may not have been lying, but they weren’t exactly telling you the truth. From the reactions you received, I’ll bet one of them either owned or was connected to that boat.”

“Denise did say that Worth Manning owned one of the boats that they took to Catalina. I’d love to find out the name of his boat.”

“I’ll see if I can research his vessel ownership while tracking down the Curtis lead. At least we have his name. Curtis may not be the full name of the boat. Ever think of that? There could be millions of variations on it.”

“Yes, I did think of that, but it’s all we have to go on for now.”

Emma glanced over at Granny. The ghost was sitting next to Archie but her attention was fixed on Emma, and she didn’t look happy. Her hazy jaw was set, and the scowl she shot Emma’s way could sour fresh milk. Emma turned away, wanting to finish up with Phil before addressing Granny’s ill mood.

“But doesn’t
Curtis
seem like an odd word to have as part of a boat name, no matter what the variation?” she asked.

“Could be a name that has meaning to the owner, like a kid’s name or a family name.”

“You’re right. I hadn’t thought of that.”

Phil chuckled. “Given time, I’m sure you would have.”

Going through the recesses of her memory, Emma searched for what information she had stored on Feldman and Manning. “The Feldmans didn’t have any children that I can recall. And the Mannings only have one son. His name is Stuart. George and Celeste only had Deirdre and Grant. I don’t know much about other family names, but I’m sure it doesn’t show up connected with the Whitecastle family unless it goes very far back.” Emma gave a little sigh of relief. The further her investigation took her from her in-laws, the happier she would be.

“Well, let me get to work on it, Fancy Pants.” Phil laughed. “That’s what I’d call my boat if I had one—Fancy Pants.”

After the call, Emma turned to face the still-cranky Granny Apples. “I really appreciate that you looked in on me last night, Granny. Thank you.”

“If I’d known about the murder, I’d never left ya.”

“There was nothing you could have done, Granny. I had a good night’s sleep and spent most of today at the studio office. Milo needed you much more than I did. I understand you were a great help to him.”

“That Sechrest woman was more of a help than I was.” Granny sniffed. “You’d have thought she was the Queen of the Apple Festival the way Milo carried on about her.”

Granny had been acting crabbier than ever lately, and a reason for it suddenly occurred to Emma. She got up and went to the loveseat, perching on the arm next to the ghost. “Granny, are you jealous of Sandy Sechrest?”

“Jealous? Of that paint-splattered baby ghost? That’s outlandish, even for you.” Granny fled to the opposite side of the room, where she hovered near the stationary bike with her arms crossed and her back turned to Emma. Archie raised his head from his nap, unsure of what was going on.

“Granny, it’s true,” Emma said to the image. “Both Milo and I really like Sandy Sechrest. But you’re my family. I love you.”

“You can’t love a ghost, Emma. Any fool will tell you that.”

“A fool may not believe it possible, but I do.” Emma got up and went to Granny. “Besides, what about
The Ghost and Mrs. Muir
?”

Granny, her lips pursed in wariness, looked at Emma. “Who’s Mrs. Muir?”

Emma smiled. “When all this is over, I’ll introduce the two of you. In the meantime, you need to remember that you are an important part of this family. Even my father, who can’t see or hear you, thinks of you as family. Phil thinks of you as family, and he’s not even family.”

In spite of her foul mood, Granny offered up a half-wink. “At least, not yet.”

Emma rewarded the remark with a frown. “Never mind that. My point is, you’re a very valuable member of this family, ghost or not. Both my mother and I would be lost without you, Granny. So would Archie.”

Granny turned her back again to Emma.

“Look at me, Granny,” Emma said softly.

With reluctance, the spirit turned back around. Emma could see from Granny’s expression that, had the ghost been able to produce tears, she would have been crying.

“The way things are going with my spiritual gifts, I’m going to meet a lot of ghosts. Some I’m going to like, some I won’t—just like living people.”

Granny’s face furrowed with worry. “You can ask me to go away any time you like, you know. I’d honor your request.”

“Yes, Granny, I know that, but I’m not going to.” Emma tried to place her hands on Granny’s shoulders, but they slipped through the gauzy image. “You are my family, Ish Reynolds. Your blood is in my veins, and I love you very much. We all do. And no one, living or spirit, will ever take your place.”

For several moments the two women, one long dead, the other alive, stared into each other’s eyes, welding tight the connection started generations before.

“So,” Granny said with bluntness, her face set with determination, “what’s the scoop on this Dowd woman? Got any suspects yet? My money’s on Manning.”

Emma shook her head in wonder at Granny’s resilience. “I was just about to address that when you popped in, Granny.” She moved back to her desk and fussed with a bag she’d brought in earlier. “I want to try to contact Denise’s spirit. I need to ask her some questions. You can help.”

As she talked, Emma pulled out a variety of white candles from the bag. Having failed in her first two attempts to contact Denise, she was pulling out all the stops for her next try. She set several candles on the desk, then scattered a few on nearby surfaces. Satisfied with the arrangement, she moved to the bank of windows and closed the drapes. The guesthouse fell into darkness save for a lamp on Emma’s desk.

Granny repositioned herself on the loveseat next to Archie. “You going to hold your own séance?”

“I’m going to try.” Emma started lighting the candles. “And maybe with you here, it might work better.”

Once the candles were lit, Emma sat back down at her desk and tried to relax. Even though she’d gotten used to having spirits around her, she’d never intentionally conjured one up on her own. They usually came to her without an invitation. She told herself there was nothing to be afraid of. Denise would either come or she wouldn’t. She wiped her damp palms on her jeans and got started.

The room was already a bit cool with Granny present, so Emma slipped a cardigan sweater over her shoulders. Then she closed her eyes and concentrated on her mental image of Denise Dowd as she’d last seen her.

After a minute of concentration, she took several deep breaths. “Denise,” Emma called softly. “Denise, can you hear me?”

Nothing.

“Denise, I need to speak with you.”

“Maybe if you said please,” Granny interrupted.

Emma opened one eye and cast it in the direction of the loveseat. In the darkened room, Granny’s presence shimmered like sparkly fabric. Looking around, Emma couldn’t see any other spirit images.

“Shh, Granny, I’m trying to concentrate.”

“I’m just saying, even ghosts appreciate a little courtesy.”

Emma closed her eye and went back to concentrating on Denise Dowd. “Denise, I really need to speak with you.” After a few heart beats, she added, “Please.”

“Why not add ‘pretty please with sugar on top’?”

The voice was breathy, the words sarcastic. And it wasn’t Granny.

Both of Emma’s eyes popped open, but it took her a few seconds to locate the spirit who’d spoken. It was the mystery ghost of before—the one who’d wanted to kill Emma. She was on the other side of the room, drifting like a swaying palm frond.

Granny left the loveseat and moved closer to the image. “Are you the dead wife of that Manning skunk?”

The unknown ghost cackled with laughter. Archie jumped off the loveseat and scurried under Emma’s desk.

“That’s not Mrs. Manning, Granny.” Emma leaned forward, careful not to make any sudden moves that might anger or threaten the spirit. “I don’t know who you are,” she said, addressing the ghost, “but I know for sure that you’re not Linda Manning.”

“You are fifty percent correct, Emma.” The ghost drifted closer, her image becoming more distinct as she approached. Granny positioned herself between Emma and the aggressive spirit. “I’m not Linda Manning, but I am Mrs. Manning. The
first
Mrs. Manning.”

Emma felt her face bunch as she thought about the ghost’s revelation. “I recently found out that George Whitecastle had been married before. Now you’re telling me that Worth Manning was, too.”

The ghost of the first Mrs. Manning emitted a cold, calculated laugh. “Today we would be called starter wives.” As she moved even closer to Emma, a portion of Mrs. Manning drifted through Granny.

“Hey,” Granny snapped.

The other ghost ignored Granny as if she weren’t there, keeping Emma in her sights at all times. Granny drifted to Emma’s side. Emma fought hard not to show the fear growing inside her like bubbly stomach acid. Although the ghost of the first Mrs. Manning couldn’t harm her physically, her intimidation skills were fearsome.

“Why so surprised, Emma? You were a starter wife. It’s a rather common practice in Hollywood.”

Emma straightened her shoulders and set her jaw, refusing to get drawn into the spirit’s web of mind games. Quickly, she assembled her mental notes and threw out a possibility. “Senator Manning was going to divorce you and marry Tessa, wasn’t he? That’s why you’re so determined that I not help Tessa.”