Ghost in the Polka Dot Bikini: A Ghost of Granny Apples Mystery (12 page)

Emma nodded, and Denise refilled her cup. This time, Emma picked up just the cup, leaving the saucer behind. She held the warm porcelain in her hands for comfort as she weighed what and how much to say. In the end, she finally decided to tell Denise everything, including her belief that Tessa died on Catalina and her body was never found. She even told Denise about Sandy Sechrest.

When she was done with the story, Denise got up and went to a sideboard in the dining area. When she returned, she held two small snifters in one hand and a bottle of Rémy Martin in the other.

“Who gives a damn if it’s still before noon,” Denise said, pouring cognac into each snifter. “After a story like that, I need a drink.”

After Emma took the
offered glass, Denise raised her own snifter. “To Tessa North, whatever and wherever she may be.” They both took a drink: Emma, a small sip; Denise, a large gulp.

“So what can you tell me, Denise?” Emma asked, setting her drink on the table. The last thing she needed was to drive to Milo’s half in the bag, and after everything she was learning, she could easily drain the glass as Denise was doing. “Do you know who Curtis is? Or anyone Tessa might have been involved with romantically other than George Whitecastle?”

“No matter what your mother-in-law believes, Tessa was never involved with George like that. And she certainly wasn’t pregnant or had a baby that I knew of.” She took another drink. “George hit on all the girls and usually won them over. After all, he was a player and quite handsome. If he got into Tessa’s panties at all, it was only a couple of times before he moved on. That was his M.O.” Denise furrowed her brows in thought. “But honestly, I don’t even recall a passing fancy between them.”

“Did George ever make a pass at you?”

“Sure.” Denise radiated another inward smile. “Old George found his way into my bed on several occasions over the years. He was a good time, as long as you understood that’s all it was. Remember, Emma, it was the sixties. Free love. No fear of AIDS. Drugs at every party. Everyone was letting loose—especially us girls raised strict Catholic and away from home for the first time.”

“Even Fran Hyland? She hardly seemed like a party-girl type to me.”

Denise laughed again. Emma liked her laugh. It was hearty and unselfconscious.

“Don’t let that proper, suit-wearing exterior fool you. When we were young, Fran hopped in and out of more beds than a bed bug and could drink her weight in booze.”

Emma thought of the prim and indignant woman she’d met the day before and had difficulty picturing her as a wild child of the sixties.

The two women sipped their drinks companionably—Denise cognac and Emma tea—before Emma continued on with her questions.

“Celeste Whitecastle told me that several of her friends told her they saw George out with Tessa.”

In response, Denise picked the album back up. She leafed through it until she found what she was seeking, then turned the album toward Emma. “Look at some of these photos, Emma, and tell me what—or, more specifically, who—you see.”

Emma studied several of the photos spread over the two open pages. Several of them were group shots around a table in a club or restaurant. Scattered over the table were various cocktail glasses and even a champagne bottle and a few flutes. She pointed at one of the men in the photos. “I’m pretty sure that’s George.”

“That it is.”

Emma pointed to a woman a few places down. “That’s Colleen.” She moved her finger over. “And that’s Fran and Tessa on either side of George.” There were three other men in the photo and a woman she didn’t recognize. “Where were you and Shelly?”

“I took the photo. Shelly had already moved to Vegas. This other woman was one of Fran’s roommates. I think her name was Cindy or Candy, something with a C.”

“Cynthia Small?” Emma prompted.

“Yes, that’s the name. Did Fran tell you that, or are you seeing Cindy’s ghost, too?”

Emma shook her head and laughed. Everyone was now assuming that she was seeing ghosts at every turn. “Fran told me.”

Denise indicated another photo, but in this one Denise was wedged between Fran and one of the men. “See, I’m in this one. It was taken by a waiter. As I recall, we were celebrating Tessa’s birthday. Usually, we went out in groups like this. I’m not saying there wasn’t any pairing off or people meeting up other times, but generally we partied in groups. So Mrs. Whitecastle’s friends might have thought Tessa and George were an item if they saw us all out, but, like I said, I’m pretty sure they weren’t.”

Emma studied the photos closer. “Any chance either of these two men are named Curtis?” Before Denise could answer, Emma poked a finger at the man sitting next to Denise. “Wait a minute, isn’t that Worth Manning?”

“Sure is. He was starting to climb politically by then and was becoming more concerned about his image.” Denise laughed. “Or at least his handlers were. Shortly after this party, he almost never came around.”

Emma studied the other photos. “I don’t see Paul Feldman here. He, George, and Worth Manning were close friends; still are. Did he hang out with you, too?”

“We saw Paul once in a while, but not as often as Worth and George. George always joked that Mrs. Feldman kept Paul on a short leash. I met her once at a party. Quite the stick in the mud, but it was Worth’s wife who was the real bitch. Nasty as they come. It’s no wonder the boys played around.”

Emma thought the comment odd. She’d met Mrs. Manning on several occasions, and she’d always seemed quite pleasant and charming, although Emma thought Denise was right about Mrs. Feldman. She’d always struck Emma as being dull and inflexible.

“Who’s this other guy?” Emma landed a finger on the man she didn’t recognize.

“That’s Tony Keller. He shot himself about a year or so after this was taken. Word was his studio cancelled his contract, but there were other rumors about him being caught in a homosexual love nest. Not sure which I believe.”

“Tell me, Denise, did you all go to Catalina together from time to time?”

“Yes, though usually the men took someone’s boat over to fish and we girls went by ferry and met them there. There were some wild parties on the island.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Denise grew quiet and stared down at the group photo. “I was just remembering when this photo was taken. Tessa’s birthday was at the end of May. This was taken just before she took off.”

“Didn’t you find it odd that she just disappeared? Weren’t you concerned?”

“Until you showed up talking about seeing her ghost, I always thought she’d gone back to Nebraska. And who knows, maybe she did and this whole ghost thing is just your imagination.”

Emma gave Denise a look that assured her she wasn’t in the habit of having imaginary friends. “Was Tessa the sort who would leave without saying goodbye or give an explanation to her friends?”

Denise shrugged. “Colleen and I were both out of town on a shoot the week Tessa left. When we returned, her things were gone. There was just the three of us in the apartment then. About a week or so later, we got a postcard from Nebraska saying she’d decided to go home and didn’t want any long goodbyes or for us to try and talk her out of it.”

“Why would she think you’d try to talk her out of it?”

“Tessa didn’t talk much about her family, but from what I gathered, home was pretty miserable. She was raised by her brother and his wife, and I got the feeling they were pretty mean to her, even abusive. In the few years we lived together, she never received any mail or phone calls or visits from family members that I knew of. She seemed to be all alone in the world, except for us.” Denise took a drink from her snifter. “Shame, too, because she was such a sweet thing. Rather naïve and innocent. Tessa wasn’t quite as wild as the rest of us. Didn’t hardly drink. Didn’t swear. She was totally enamored of Hollywood. Colleen and I always thought it was a bit strange that she took off like that, but after the card came, we didn’t give it much thought.”

In her head, Emma replayed part of her discussion with Fran Hyland. “And you’re sure Tessa never talked about going back home to Nebraska?”

“Positive. Whenever anyone asked her about her family, she’d shut right down. We wouldn’t even have known where she was from if we didn’t see it on her driver’s license when she first came to California.”

“Did you ever try to reach her?”

Denise shook her head. “Didn’t know where to start. We just knew she was from Nebraska. She never even told us her brother’s name.”

“And you didn’t know who she was dating at the time she disappeared?”

“Not really. She didn’t seem that interested in hooking up with someone steady. She seemed more intent on having fun. And she loved being an actress. She wasn’t bad, either. Not Shakespeare quality, but she probably would have had a decent enough career, especially with those boobs of hers.”

“According to Tessa’s ghost, she and this Curtis guy went to Catalina on his boat shortly after Robert Kennedy was assassinated. You sure you don’t remember anyone hanging around Tessa who owned a boat?”

“Some of the guys had boats. Not sure which belonged to who, but I’m pretty sure Worth owned one of them.”

“Maybe Worth and Tessa were seeing each other before she disappeared.”

Denise gave the idea some solid thought. “You know, Worth and Tessa did have something going for a short while, but I’m pretty sure it was over long before this photo was taken.”

“Denise, would you mind loaning me one of those photos? I’d really like the one taken at the club, the one with all of you.”

In response, Denise unstuck it from the album page and handed it to Emma, who turned it over. On the back was printed in faded blue ink:
Tessa’s B’day 1968
.

“Thank you. I’ll return it as soon as I can.”

Denise flapped her hand gently at Emma. “Oh pish, no hurry. I haven’t looked at these old photos in more than twenty years.”

Emma stood up and stretched her long legs. Grabbing her jacket, she slipped it on. Denise rose with her. “Thank you for your time, Denise. I really appreciate it.” She held out her hand to Denise Dowd, who took it and shook it with a hearty pump.

Emma was almost out the door when she paused and turned back. “Are you sure, Denise, that George Whitecastle didn’t have a specific mistress, or maybe one woman he saw more often than any of the others?”

“Not that I knew of, unless he was very discreet about it. Seemed to me, he bounced from flower to flower too often to have someone on the side in addition to his wife. And he was a very busy man. Where would he find the time and the energy?”

“And you didn’t know of any of the women in your group, or maybe on the fringes of it, becoming pregnant?”

“Colleen had a scare once, but, thankfully, that’s all it was.”

“You have my number. If you remember anything you think might be helpful, please don’t hesitate to call.”

“And if you find out what happened to Tessa, please let me know. She was a sweet kid. And although I believe what you’re saying about the ghost, I want in my heart to believe that Tessa didn’t die so young.”

On her way to
Milo’s house, Emma called Jackie. “Hey, Jackie. Can you rustle up the phone number for Worth Manning for me?”

“The ex-senator? I’ll do my best.”

“I haven’t seen Mr. Manning for several years. You might have to remind him that I’m George Whitecastle’s ex-daughter-in-law. Feel free to say I’m the one looking for the number if you need to.” Emma paused, then added, “Also find me the number for Paul Feldman. He used to be a big-shot producer. I’m not sure if he’s still in the game or not.”

“You got it. By the way, I was about to e-mail you about those Nowicki numbers. I was almost through the list when I got a hit. Some guy just outside Lincoln said he had a cousin named Theresa. Said her parents died when she was young, and she went to live with her older brother and his wife until she graduated high school and took off for California. No one’s heard from her since. The brother’s name is Jack Nowicki. And get this—according to the cousin, Jack and his wife were these crazy religious zealots who beat on her pretty often. The cousin said Jack lives in Arizona now in a retirement community—probably why he wasn’t on my call list. I found a number for him in Arizona. Do you want me to call him?”

No wonder, Emma thought, Tessa never talked about her family and home. Still, she wondered why Fran Hyland had said she did.

“Yes. Simply ask him when was the last time he saw his sister.” Emma paused, thinking of something more for Jackie to say to Jack Nowicki. “Tell him you’re doing background research for a nostalgic piece on the old teen beach movies and would like to find her. It will be interesting to see what he says, given his background.”

“Will do.”

“And, Jackie, great work. I have no power to give you a raise, so how about a trip to a day spa?”

“Woo hoo, the other assistants are going to be jealous.”

“Don’t tell them.”

“Are you kidding? Of course I’m going to tell them.”

As soon as they disconnected the call, Emma thought of something else. She buzzed Jackie back.

“Oh, and Jackie? One more thing. Could you look up a Tony Keller? Might be Anthony Keller. I think he was an actor in the sixties. Died in 1969 or 1970, around there, possible suicide.”

When Emma arrived at Milo’s, Tracy Bass opened the door dressed in jeans and a sweater with stars appliquéd across her chest. “Hey, pal,” she greeted Emma.

“Hey yourself.” Emma shrugged off her jacket before giving her friend a big hug. “What a nice surprise, on many levels,” she added, alluding to the recently disclosed romance between Tracy and Milo.

Tracy pantomimed an
aw shucks
. “Milo told me you two were getting together. I had just one early class today so was free to horn in on your meeting. I hope you don’t mind, but I’d love to see what goes on when you two talk ghosts.”

Emma chuckled and rolled her eyes. “As long as you don’t trot me out for show and tell in one of your classes.”

“Nah, my sweetie will do that for me.”

Milo and Emma settled around the old table in the back room, Milo on one end, Emma just to his right. Emma noticed that Milo had restacked the books that had fallen during their last meeting, though the new stack was tilting as badly as the previous one. Milo offered coffee or tea, but Emma declined, citing she was filled to the gills. Shortly after they sat down, Granny appeared.

“Still no success in getting Tessa to come here?” Emma asked Granny.

“Not a lick. No new information, either. That gal’s stuck on the same old tune. Curtis is coming for her and she needs to wait.”

Emma glanced over at Tracy. Her friend was curled up in a large leather chair pulled close to Milo, her hands wrapped around a warm mug of tea. Her eyes were as wide as saucers and her ears fairly hummed in their attempt to pick up any smidgen of ghostly chat. Milo was whispering to her the conversation with Granny.

“What about the ghost that visited us yesterday, Granny? Any news about her?”

Milo turned to Emma in surprise. “Was it the same one who came here?”

“I think so. She—Granny thinks it’s a woman—dropped by my home right after you and I talked yesterday. Didn’t say anything, just spun around the room like a whirling dervish. But this time she came face to face with me, literally. I couldn’t make out any image and she didn’t say anything, but we were definitely nose to nose.”

In her chair, Tracy shivered with excitement.

Emma continued. “I couldn’t tell if she was upset or trying to tell us something.”

“Humph,” said Granny. “I told her to go away and come back when she could act civilized.”

Milo turned to Granny. “And you have no idea, Granny, who this mystery spirit is?”

“Nada.”

Emma frowned at the ghost. “Nada?”

“It means
nothing
,” Granny explained to Emma.

“I know what it means, Granny. Just when did you start saying that?”

Milo didn’t need to translate to Tracy. She’d picked up the gist of the conversation and was chuckling into her mug.

“I may be dead, Emma, but I’m not too old or too stupid to learn new things.” The spirit sniffed in annoyance. “I learned it from Alma.”

Alma Ramirez was the Miller housekeeper. She came three times a week and had been with the family for seven years. So far, they’d been able to keep Granny’s presence from Alma, and the entire family had voted to keep it that way. They didn’t want to lose her.

“Granny, you know you’re supposed to stay away from Alma.”

“I’m not bothering her. I just like the way she talks—and sings. She’s always singing along with that contraption she wears in her ears.”

“Please, Granny. If Alma leaves, my mother will skin us both alive.”

“I ain’t alive.”

Laughter erupted from Tracy as Milo filled her in on the bickering. “It’s like this all the time,” Milo whispered to her. “It’s a wonder we get anything done.”

In frustration, Emma turned away from Granny and started filling everyone in on what she’d learned from Denise Dowd. Pulling the photo she’d gotten from Denise out of her bag, she placed it in the middle of the table and pushed it toward Milo. Tracy moved forward to study it over his shoulder while Emma pointed out the various people.

Tracy was the first to comment. “Did Tessa look like this in ghost form?”

Emma nodded. “Pretty much, except she’s wearing a bikini.”

Milo pointed at Tony Keller’s image. “So you think this Tony Keller might have known something? Is that why you’re having Jackie follow up on him?”

“I haven’t a clue if he’s involved or not, but I thought it wouldn’t hurt to look into his death. My plan is to check out everyone who ran in that tight little group.”

“Good idea,” said Milo. “You never know what’s going to turn up.”

“I’m also having Jackie track down the numbers for both Worth Manning and Paul Feldman.”

“Isn’t Manning a friend of your in-laws?” asked Tracy. “Couldn’t you ask them?”

“They are both close friends, but I have my reasons for not wanting to go to the Whitecastles.” Emma picked at the wax on the large unlit candle in the middle of the table while ideas circled her head like orbiting planets. “George said he didn’t know Tessa, and asking for these numbers would only raise further suspicion about my purpose, although I’m pretty sure if George and his pals know anything about her disappearance, they’ve synchronized their stories by now.”

Milo fingered the photo. “But why would George lie to you, considering there’s physical evidence that he did know Tessa? Even if he counted on his wife saying nothing.”

“Simple,” Emma answered. “He probably thought I’d take him at his word and never thought for a million years I’d be doing research into it, or that it would be important enough to me to pursue.”

Tracy chuckled. “Poor guy. He underestimated you. Just like his son did.”

“Could be, or he thought it would be easy enough to explain away should the truth of their acquaintance come out. After all, it was many years ago. He could simply say he didn’t remember at the time I asked him. As for Celeste, she wouldn’t lift a finger to help Tessa, not even in death. And if Celeste thought for a moment that George got rid of Tessa, she’d never help me find out what happened to her. Can’t say I blame her. He’s sick and old—and her husband. And she’d do anything to avoid a scandal.”

Tracy leaned forward. “But I thought you said Tessa wasn’t George’s mistress.”

“From what Denise told me, she wasn’t, but I doubt Celeste would believe me.”

Milo scratched his head and adjusted his glasses. “Wonder why George would tell his wife she was?”

“Maybe he didn’t,” Emma answered. “Celeste could have assumed she was from what her friends told her, and George didn’t say anything because he wanted to protect the woman who was.”

“And what about you?” asked Milo.

“Me, what?”

“If you find out your former father-in-law is connected to Tessa’s death, are you going to say something to the authorities or let it slide to protect the family?”

It was a question that had plagued Emma’s mind ever since Milo first said something a few days before about George being involved in a possible murder.

“Am I legally bound to say anything?”

Tracy shook her head. “No, I don’t believe you are.”

Emma pushed the candle away. “Then I guess I’ll cross that bridge if and when I come to it. Might be that Tessa wasn’t murdered. And it might be George wasn’t involved.”

Tracy gave her a look of skepticism. Milo himself had doubt written all over his face. Only Granny said what was on everyone’s mind.

“If that child wasn’t murdered, then I’m Barack Obama.”

Milo turned to Emma, fighting to keep a straight face. “At least Granny keeps up with current events.”

Emma covered her face with her palms and groaned with frustration. What she really wanted to do was rub her hands up and down over her face, but she knew it would only serve to destroy her makeup. When she removed her hands, Milo, Tracy, and Granny were all staring at her—Tracy with amusement, Milo with concern, and Granny with annoyance.

“Okay,” Emma said, giving in to the popular theory. “Let’s go with the assumption that Tessa North was murdered, or at least gravely injured and left to die on purpose.”

“What if this Curtis did come back,” Tracy added, “but it was too late?”

“Phil and I discussed that possibility,” Emma told them. “If Curtis did come back and it was too late to save Tessa, then why was there no body or report of a death in the news? If he returned and she was dead, there’s a very good chance he covered it up.”

“Or covered her up,” added Granny.

“Very true,” said Emma. “We’re pretty sure whatever happened to Tessa, her body was never recovered. This Curtis would know where he left her and why. We just have to find him.”

Tracy raised her hand like a dutiful student. “I have a question. Say you do locate Curtis. What do you intend to do? Have you thought that far ahead?”

It was the same question Phil Bowers had asked her the night before when he’d called to say good night and see if she’d learned anything new. He’d advised her not to be like a dog that chases cars, only to have no plan once he catches one.

“Somehow, we need to get him to Tessa. If she sees him, she might feel assured and cross over, as she should. That’s really my goal, to help Tessa cross over.” Emma paused to think, then added, “And if she was murdered, I want to bring her justice. She deserves it.”

Tracy still wasn’t satisfied. “And if you do find him and he is involved in her murder or cover-up, how do you propose to get him to come along with you to Catalina?”

Granny bounced around the room in excitement. “We can hog-tie him and smuggle him aboard a boat.”

Emma looked at the ghost in astonishment. “I am not going to kidnap anyone, Granny.”

“I’m not exactly in favor of Granny’s plan,” Milo commented, “but how else are you going to convince Curtis to go over to Catalina and face the ghost of Tessa North?”

Everyone was quiet while silent ideas bounced around the room like a runaway pinball. There were so many variables still up in the air—a plethora of what-ifs.