Ghost in the Polka Dot Bikini

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  Tessa was already dead when Emma met her, but Denise had been very much alive. The more Emma tried to push Denise out of her mind, the more she felt responsible for the woman’s death. Slipping into the ladies’ room, she entered a stall and had herself a good cry. Once finished, Emma fixed her makeup and straightened her shoulders. Now she had two murders to get to the bottom of, and she was determined to do just that.

  After being rebuffed by Paul Feldman, Emma was more determined than ever to speak with him. If the three amigos were hiding something, she felt that Paul Feldman was the most likely to tip his hand. Of the three, he was the only one who had not stayed on course with his emotions, going from shock at initially hearing Tessa’s name to turning cold and even hostile today. And he was the only one who had given her any direct warning to cease before someone else got injured, or maybe even worse. She also wanted to question George Whitecastle further, but knew that door was closed to her—unless, of course, she stormed their home and insisted, in which case she would look like the crazy and not Grant, and in the world’s eyes, Grant would have grounds for his behavior the day before.

  Remembering that Hyland Staffing kept half-day hours on Saturday, Emma put in a call to Fran Hyland’s office. She was told that Ms. Hyland was out of the office and would not be returning until the middle of next week. When asked if she wanted to leave her a voicemail message, Emma declined, doubting that Fran Hyland would ever call her back, especially on the heels of Denise’s murder.

  Denise. Now there was someone Emma really wanted to speak to again, but now it was impossible. Or was it?

  Emma still hadn’t heard back from Milo and Tracy regarding the painting and any contact with Tessa. She had fought the urge to call them last night but refrained, knowing they weren’t just on the island to help her but to have a little time to themselves. They probably had not seen the news or they would have called. Emma even missed Granny’s crankiness and wished she could call her back home, if for no other reason than to talk to her about the case. The case—that was what Granny had called it, and Emma had rebuked her. But it was a case, at least now.

  The idea of calling on Granny gave Emma another thought. She looked at her watch. It was just after eleven in the morning. Emma punched in the speed-dial number for Milo on her cell phone.

  The first words out of Milo’s mouth were, “Emma, are you all right? We heard about the thing with Grant.”

  “You did?”

  “Granny told us this morning. She said she saw it on TV in one of the bars last night. We wanted to call you, but she said you seemed fine.”

  “I am, but how would she know?”

  “She popped in on you last night. Said you were sleeping like a baby.”

  Yes, Emma thought, thanks to a couple of sleeping pills, but she was touched by Granny’s concern and thoughtfulness. Had Granny arrived a bit sooner, she would have heard Emma on the phone in a heated discussion with Phil Bowers.

  When Phil had called to check up on Emma after learning of the scuffle with Grant, Emma told him about Denise’s murder. He’d nearly come unglued.

  “That’s it,” he’d yelled. “I’m canceling everything and coming up there tonight.”

  “No, Phil, you’re not. I’m fine.”

  “You’ve been spraypainted, assaulted by your ex-husband on national TV, and are now involved in a murder. You tell me, what part of that sounds fine to you?”

  Although he had a good point, Emma had held her ground. “I said I’m fine, Phil, and I mean it. The car’s in the shop, Grant’s returned to his hole in the ground, and I’m not involved in any murder.”

  Even as she said the last part, Emma knew it was a fib. Like it or not, she was, in one way or another, involved with Denise Dowd’s demise. Maybe not directly, but it was just a matter of time before the connection was revealed. As Detective Tillman had said, the cops didn’t like coincidences. What’s more, Phil Bowers wasn’t the type to believe in coincidences either.

  Emma had caved in the face of facts. “Okay, so I am a little involved with Denise’s murder, but only because I visited her the day it happened.”

  “Am I coming up there, or are you driving down here?”

  “Neither.” Emma had set her jaw in defiance. “I’ve already been bullied by Grant today—don’t you start in on me, too.”

  “I’m not bullying you, Emma. I love you, and I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve been summoned to a meeting in the morning with my producers. They saw the news tonight like everyone else. And I’m sure you have a full day tomorrow, as well.” She’d paused to calm down and could tell by Phil’s silence that he was trying to rein in his emotions on the other end of the line. “What’s more, Phil, I won’t have you running up here like a knight on a white horse every time you think I’m in trouble.”

  Phil knew better than to argue with Emma. She was every bit as stubborn as he was, maybe even more so. She just swaddled it in refinement. “My horse is brown with a white blaze.”

  The comment had elicited a soft giggle from Emma and dampened their mutual high temper like soft rain on a campfire.

  After a big, exaggerated sigh, Phil had added, “Will you at least promise me to keep a low profile and not go snooping around any more?”

  Emma didn’t answer lightly, choosing to be truthful over compliant. “I will promise you, Phil, to be very careful. It’s the best I can offer.”

  Returning her thoughts to the call with Milo, Emma asked, “But did Granny know about the murder?”

  “Murder?” From his tone, Emma knew Milo hadn’t heard.

  In the background, she heard Tracy chime in, her voice raising an octave with each word. “Murder? What murder? Is she talking about Tessa or someone else? Let me talk to her.”

  There was a slight scuffling noise, then Milo’s voice, “Wait a minute, let me put her on speaker.” A second later, Emma was talking to both of them.

  “Okay, pal,” Tracy said. “What’s this about murder?”

  Emma bulldozed ahead, knowing there was no easy way to break the news. “Denise Dowd was murdered the day before yesterday. It happened while the three of us were at Milo’s.”

  On the other end of the phone there was silence. Emma broke it by giving them a summary of the details, including her time with the police and her subsequent chats with everyone else. When she was finished, the silence on the other end was deafening.

  “We’re coming home,” Tracy announced.

  “There’s no need for you to come home,” Emma said.

  “You’re being threatened, Emma.”

  “No, I’m not. Warned maybe, but hardly threatened. Considering what happened to Denise, don’t you think if someone wanted me dead, I’d be so already?”

  “That is hardly a comfort,” Tracy snapped.

  “Ladies, calm down,” Milo interrupted. “I think Emma’s right, though I agree that it is not very comforting. It makes me think that maybe Denise Dowd knew something else—something she didn’t tell Emma for one reason or another.”

  “Which is why I called, Milo. I’ve never called a ghost to me on my own. Is it possible for me to reach out to Denise’s spirit?”

  “Hard to say, Emma. You can try, but it’s really up to her whether or not she wants to make contact. Often the newly dead are confused, but sometimes they’re as alert as if still living.”

  “Any suggestions?”

  “Get someplace quiet and dimly lit. You don’t need candles, but I find that there’s something about candlelight that helps, especially white candles.”

  “Do I call her name?”

  “You can, but you really don’t need to. Just think about her with focused intensity. Envision her as she was the day you saw her. Usually, when I’m calling spirits to me, I don’t know them personally, but there’s someone they know in the room, which aids me in sending vibrations to a specific entity. Your brief acquaintance with Denise may or may not help. Lacki
ng that, you might try being somewhere familiar to her.”

  “Like her home?”

  “Yes. She might still be lingering there, especially if she died there.”

  “Wait a minute,” Tracy cut in. “I hate to pee on this parade, but Denise’s place is a crime scene, is it not?” When no one answered, she added, “Are you telling me, Emma Whitecastle, that you’re going to break into someone’s home? More to the point, a place sealed by the police as a crime scene?”

  “Well, it’s not my first choice.”

  “Oh, please,” Tracy continued with exaggeration. “You won’t even park illegally.”

  “I repeat, Tracy,” Emma said with annoyance as thick as Bing’s chocolate pudding, “it’s not my first choice. Besides, as I recall, there’s a security gate, and it’s on the second floor. Not exactly conducive to simply popping a screen off a window and hoisting myself in.”

  Milo interrupted. “I have an idea where Emma won’t have to break any laws or any windows.”

  “I’m all ears, Milo.” Emma picked up her pen, ready to take some notes.

  “First, try calling to Denise from somewhere neutral, like your office or home. If that doesn’t work, go to either the restaurant where she worked or to the area around her home. You won’t be able to use candles or dim the lights, but either place will have a stronger connection to her than somewhere she’s never been.”

  Emma shook her head as she read her notes over. “I can see it now, guys. I’ll go to Bing’s, order the halibut, and hold a séance in one of their booths. They can charge extra for the entertainment.”

  Her comment made Tracy snort with laughter, but Milo remained all business. “Laugh if you like, Emma, but it might work, though I was thinking more of you going into the ladies’ room at the restaurant. At her home, try the carport or get as close to the building and her apartment as physically possible.”

  “Sorry for the flippancy, Milo. I really do appreciate your help.”

  “I know you do, Emma. Now, do you want to know what we found out from Sandy Sechrest?”

  “Hit me with it.” Emma leaned back in her office chair and closed her eyes so she could concentrate on his words.

  “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 attentio
n 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?”