Ghost in the Polka Dot Bikini: A Ghost of Granny Apples Mystery (21 page)

The ghost’s smile was outlined with malice. “No, Emma, not even close. Worth wanted to divorce me; on that you’re correct. But the public didn’t vote for divorced men, and Worth was more caught up in political lust than romantic lust. So we came to a marital truce. No divorce, but he could have his chippies and I my own affairs, as long as everything was kept quiet.”

“But he told Tessa he loved her, didn’t he? That’s why she’s waited all this time on the island. He told her he’d return for her.”

The ghost spun three hundred sixty degrees, returning to face Emma with a superior grin. “Wrong again, my dear. Worth might have dallied at one time with the stupid little tramp, but it was long over, I can assure you.”

Pulling her confidence around her like a shield, Emma stood up and walked around the desk, past Mrs. Manning, to where the painting leaned against the wall. She studied it, hoping for a clue to reveal itself in the mixture of blue and green sea. The ghost came up beside her but made no move toward the painting. Granny moved close to Emma, keeping watch on the unsavory spirit.

“There’s some reason you don’t want me to help Tessa.” Emma said the words more to herself than to the ghost. She turned to face Mrs. Manning. “What does this have to do with Denise Dowd?”

“Who?”

“Denise Dowd.” Emma put her hands on her hips and matched the apparition eyeball to eyeball. “She was one of Tessa’s old roommates. She was murdered two days ago, right after speaking to me about Tessa. I was trying to reach her spirit when you came in.”

“I have no idea who that person is—or was.”

“So you have no idea who killed her?”

“None. But if she was part of that group of harlots, she probably deserved to die.”

Emma wanted to throttle the meanness out of the ghost standing beside her. She was so different from Manning’s second wife, Linda, the one Emma did know. Like herself, Manning had traded up.

“It’s out of my hands now anyway. I’m sure the police will be able to find a connection between the two deaths.”

The ghost of the first Mrs. Manning backed away from Emma. “What exactly does that mean?”

Emma advanced on the spirit with Granny by her side. “It means that the police are now involved in this, Mrs. Manning.” Emma’s voice was firm, almost harsh. “It means they are going to start looking into Tessa North’s disappearance to see if there is a tie-in to Denise Dowd’s murder. Everything you’re working so hard to keep buried may soon come to light.”

“No!”

“Yes, Mrs. Manning.” Emma continued pushing her own agenda, keeping the bullying ghost as off-balance as she’d done to her just moments before. “It’s just a matter of time. Senator Manning, George Whitecastle, and the others may be able to sidestep me, but they won’t be able to dance around the police—at least not for long.”

The ghost looked horrified. “Make them stop! Tell them you made it all up about Tessa North.”

“I can’t, Mrs. Manning. Their investigation is already going on.”

Emma didn’t know how much energy Detective Tillman was going to put into the disappearance of a woman over forty years ago on the say-so of a clairvoyant, but she was playing every card she had, hoping to force information out of the spirit.

“Tell me what you’re hiding, Mrs. Manning. Maybe it will help.”

The spirit spun again. This time, when she returned to face Emma, her hazy features were contorted in anguish. “You foolish, foolish woman! You have no idea what you’ve done.”

Once again, Emma was
being led into George Whitecastle’s study, and by the same maid as before. She was a frumpy Asian woman whose powder blue uniform hung on her thin frame like sacking on a scarecrow. The only noticeable shape was at the waist, where it was cinched by the ties of her white apron.

“Thank you for coming, Emma,” George greeted her from his chair.

As before, Emma bent down and kissed his lined cheek and patted Bijou on his loyal head.

“Is there anything I can get you, Mr. Whitecastle?” the maid asked as she stood by the door.

“Nothing, thank you, Helen.”

The maid stood a few more seconds at the doorway studying Emma. “I’m fine, also,” Emma told her, noticing the woman’s hesitation. The maid left.

Emma took a seat on the sofa. “George, how long has Helen been with you? I don’t remember seeing her before my last visit.”

George Whitecastle knitted his brows in thought. His complexion was dull and gray, and the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced than when Emma had seen him last.

“Six months, maybe less. Since Ivy retired, Celeste has gone through several head housekeepers, trying to find a good replacement.” He shook his head. “Not sure this one’s an improvement over the last, but she’s quiet and does her work.”

Emma thought about Jackie’s idea that it might have been the maid who’d called Grant. “George, do you think it was Helen who might have told Grant I was here last time?”

“Why would she have done that?”

“She might have thought she was looking out for you.”

“Can’t see it. She would have told Celeste, not Grant. And she doesn’t seem terribly interested in my well-being or that of the family. She’s like a robot: does her job, period.” He shook his head. “We sure miss Ivy.”

A short silence fell between them. Emma could sense that this visit would be different. George seemed restless and uncomfortable in her presence, something she never recalled him being in all the years she’d known him.

“I wasn’t sure if I should come today,” Emma said, breaking the stillness. “Celeste thought it best that I not contact you two until the thing with Grant simmered down. I was very surprised when you called.”

George Whitecastle had called Emma the day before, shortly after the ghost of the first Mrs. Manning disappeared in a rage. He asked if she would come by their home in the morning. He didn’t say why, just that he wanted to clear the air about some things. She agreed to be there at ten thirty.

After the call from George, Granny and Emma had tried several more times to reach the spirit of Denise Dowd, but each attempt failed. Mrs. Manning didn’t show again either. Finally, Emma gave up. After changing into workout clothes, she told Granny to come back around suppertime for a surprise. Then she hopped on the treadmill and tried to beat the stress out of her system. For dinner, Emma fixed herself a simple sandwich and a glass of wine. Then she and Granny settled in the den, where Emma plugged her mother’s copy of
The Ghost and Mrs. Muir
into the DVD player. Granny loved the movie.

Considering what Emma had learned from the ghost of the first Mrs. Manning, George’s call had been perfect timing. Certain the ghost was hiding something about Tessa’s death, Emma wanted to know more about Worth Manning and his first wife. She also wanted to ask George about Denise Dowd and more about Tessa, provided he was strong enough. In his call, he hadn’t said what he wanted to discuss with Emma, but he had opened the door to further contact, and she was going to walk through it as far as she was allowed.

George sat small and trampled in his chair, his illness keeping him company like an ill-mannered guest. Every time he started to say something to Emma, he stopped himself. She decided to give him a prod. Reaching into her handbag, Emma pulled out the photo Denise had given her. She handed it to him. George took the photo and held it in shaking hands.

“We were something, weren’t we?” he said after studying it. “I always thought we were bold, brash, and beautiful. All of us. We worked and played equally hard. The girls, too.” George leaned his fragile head against the back of the chair, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Started out innocent enough. Just a few drinks with the cast and crew during the filming of
Beach Party Prom
. Worth started coming around. He was transitioning from actor to politician about that time. Paul, being the producer, was already part of the group. Tony Keller was in the film, too. Over time, people dropped away until it was just this small, solid band that continued to hang out together.”

He tilted his head and looked at Emma, a tragic smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “We were the ‘it’ crowd of our time. Living for the moment, regardless of the consequences to ourselves and to others.” George let out a ragged cough. “We played with fire and all got burned.”

“Why did you tell me you didn’t know Tessa North when you obviously did?”

“It was a long time ago, Emma. And she was a touchy subject in this house.”

“But she wasn’t your mistress, as Celeste thinks, was she? She wasn’t the one who had your baby?”

“No, she wasn’t.” George’s voice trembled, each word having its own separate vibration. “Celeste told me about your conversation with her. Guess I should have known my lie would be found out in short order.”

“Your mistress—was she Shelly Campbell?”

George looked surprised. “Why would you think that?”

“From what Celeste said, the baby would have been born about the time that photo was taken. Shelly’s the only one in your group who isn’t there. Did she go away to have the baby?”

“No. Shelly left LA, but not to have a baby. She got a job in Vegas.” He ran his fingers lightly over the photo, as if trying to remember through his fingertips.

“I could tell you another lie, but what’s the point?” He took a deep breath, which morphed into another cough. “My mistress never had the baby.” He looked up at Emma with wet eyes. “I made her get an abortion. It was illegal back then, except in special cases. We went to Mexico.” He stared down at the photo again. “I should never have forced her. She wanted that baby so bad.”

A cool flow of air entered the room. Bijou let out a small whine. Emma looked around but saw no spirits. Getting up from her seat, she went to George and tucked the throw draped across his lap up higher against his chest. “It’s getting drafty in here,” she said to him with a warm smile.

George clutched her hand and held it. “I loved her, Emma, but I also loved Celeste. I was so torn between them. It was the most difficult decision I’ve ever made. And to this day, I’m not sure I made the right one.”

It was then that Emma saw Granny. Next to Granny, another spirit was coming into view. Just a flicker at first, soon it materialized into a shimmering pillar of shape. Emma stared at the ghost with surprise before looking to Granny for confirmation.

“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.”