Ghost in the Polka Dot Bikini: A Ghost of Granny Apples Mystery Read online

  “I’d just die if I couldn’t go to the beach.” Through the ghostly whisper, Emma discerned a young voice that held an almost childlike quality. She changed her estimation of the woman’s age at death to be her early twenties. “Growing up, all I ever dreamed about were California beaches. And now here I am.” The young spirit twirled with glee like she’d won a prize at a carnival.

  Emma and Granny looked at each other a moment before Granny cocked a thumb in Emma’s direction. “This here’s my great-granddaughter, Emma.”

  “Great-great-great granddaughter,” Emma corrected. She drank the last of her coffee in one final gulp and tossed the cup into a trash bin that stood next to the bench. She knew Granny was sensitive about her age, even in death, and Emma loved teasing her about it.

  “Whatever,” Granny replied, rolled her eyes. Emma frowned at the response, thinking Granny was picking up far too many modern bad habits. Granny returned her attention to the other ghost. “Emma’s a friend to those on the other side.”

  The young ghost looked from one woman to the other—from the dead to the living and back again—her face glowing and guileless in the growing morning light.

  “My name’s Tessa—Tessa North.” Before either Granny or Emma could say anything, the young spirit added, “Am I really dead?”

  “Wait a minute.”

  Their suite’s bathroom had a whirlpool tub bordered on one side with sliding doors that could be opened to expose the tub to the bedroom and the warmth from the fireplace. Phil, who was shaving, turned from the mirror to stare at Emma through the open sliding doors. She was sprawled on their king-size bed in a fluffy terrycloth robe, telling him about her encounter with Tessa North. After returning from her sunrise rendezvous with the two ghosts, Emma had warmed her bones in the tub, where she’d been joined by a playful Phil.

  “Are you telling me that this ghost doesn’t know she’s dead?”

  “It’s more like she’s not sure about it. Like she’s confused.”

  He pointed his razor in her direction. “But you think she died in the sixties?”

  “Yes, at least from her hairstyle and bathing suit. She looks like something out of one of those old teen beach movies. You know, the ones with Frankie Avalon and Annette Funicello. Weren’t those from the sixties?”

  “Sure were.” Phil grinned through tracks of shaving cream. “When I was a kid, my first major crush was on Annette Funicello.” He winked at Emma. “Man, could she fill out a bathing suit.” Emma made a face at him. He laughed and went back to shaving.

  “Too bad you can’t see ghosts, Phil. The figure on Tessa North makes Annette look downright dowdy.”

  Phil rinsed his face, then turned back to Emma while drying off with a hand towel. “Really?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “Think Pamela Sue Anderson, but naïve.”

  Both his eyebrows shot up. “Hmm, maybe you could arrange a special vision for me.”

  Shaking her head with amusement, Emma got off the bed, removed her robe, and started to dress. “Fat chance, cowboy.”

  Phil dashed out of the bathroom and gently tackled Emma, the two of them falling back down onto the large bed. Emma giggled as he straddled her, holding her arms above her head. “You old fool, get off me.”

  From his perch, Phil Bowers studied his prey. Dressed or undressed, the sight of Emma Whitecastle never ceased to take his breath away. Tall and willowy, with short, blond, flirty hair, she wore her forties well. He adored every inch of her, including the fine lines edging her crisp blue eyes and generous mouth. And he loved that her intelligence and sharp wit kept him on his toes. She was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman, even if she did come with a sidecar of things that went bump in the night. He’d learned to adjust to the unconventional side of Emma Whitecastle, just as she’d learned to accommodate his stubbornness.

  Phil leaned down and trapped Emma’s mouth with his own. They both smelled of soap and tasted of toothpaste. His kiss was long and demanding. Emma settled into it, her own lips parting in welcome. When he let go of her arms, they instinctively went around his neck in an embrace.

  “You two are worse than a couple of field rabbits.”

  Phil Bowers felt, rather than heard, the slight gasp as it escaped Emma’s lips. It wasn’t a pant of passion, but rather a slight pause or change of mind before she turned back to the matter at hand. For a fleeting instant, Emma had lost her focus mid-kiss. When he felt the cold draft on his bare back, Phil was pretty sure why. He rolled off of her.

  “I thought Granny wasn’t supposed to come into our bedroom. You know how I feel about putting on a show.”

  Emma sighed. She wasn’t about to lie. Even though Phil Bowers couldn’t hear or see Granny Apples, he’d become very astute about knowing when the spirit was present. He even talked directly to the ghost on occasion, although Emma had to relay Granny’s replies.

  He didn’t wait for Emma to respond. “Granny, you know you’re not to intrude on our intimate time. And don’t pretend you’re not here. I can feel you.”

  “She doesn’t usually, Phil.” Emma got off the bed and pulled her robe back on. In spite of the flickering flames in the fireplace, with Granny in the room, the air had turned chilly.

  Ghosts need energy to materialize, much as a flashlight needs batteries to shine. They extract that energy from the heat in the atmosphere around them, causing the air to turn cool or even cold as the heat is absorbed into their physical presentation. But like all energy, it was used up quickly, and their apparitions soon needed to disappear to recharge.

  “Isn’t he a little old to be carrying on like a prize stud?” As the ghost materialized, Emma saw her gray image perched on the edge of one of the upholstered chairs across from the bed.

  Emma looked over at Phil Bowers. He’d gotten off the bed, the towel he’d been wearing falling to the floor in the movement. Ghost or no ghost, he didn’t replace it. He was a fine-looking man in his early fifties, tall and strong with wide shoulders and a slight middle-aged spread. His face was rugged, divided by a thick, graying moustache; his head was bald. His eyes danced when he laughed or teased, which he did often. Phil was a very successful attorney with a practice in San Diego and a family ranch in Julian, where Granny was from. He was solid and dependable and embraced no pretense, nor did he tolerate it in others. He was the opposite of her trend-chasing, looks-obsessed, headline-grabbing ex-husband. Grant Whitecastle was smoke and mirrors; Phillip Bowers, a load-bearing wall.

  As both the ghost and his lover watched, Phil walked to the dresser, pulled out clothes, and started dressing. Emma looked over at Granny. The ghost was trying to keep her eyes averted in an attempt at modesty, but Emma saw her sneak appreciative looks Phil’s way. In spite of her snappish comments, Emma knew that Granny liked and admired Phil Bowers and did her best to comply with his wishes about respecting intimate boundaries.

  Emma walked over to the ghost and took the matching chair next to her. “What’s up, Granny?”

  “It’s that Tessa girl. I think we need to help her.”

  “You mean I need to help her, don’t you?”

  “I said we. I mean we.”

  “Don’t get testy. Did you talk to her?”

  “Little fool thinks she’s on some sort of never-ending holiday.”

  “And what’s wrong with that? She appeared happy enough.”

  “She’s not sure she’s dead, Emma. She needs help.”

  “Did she tell you anything about what happened to her—about the last thing she remembers?”

  “Is this about the bikini ghost?” Phil stood nearby, listening to what sounded like a one-sided conversation while he threaded a belt through the loops at the waist of his jeans.

  “Yes. Granny thinks we should help her realize her situation. The girl may not fully understand that she’s dead.”

  Phil picked up his boots and plopped down in the chair where Granny was sitting, going through the ghost unawares.

  “Humph!” Granny d
isappeared, popping up on the bed.

  “You know he didn’t do that on purpose, Granny.”

  “I’m not so sure.” The ghost crossed her arms and scowled.

  Phil looked at Emma, then at the place where she’d refocused her eyes. It dawned on him what had happened. “Damn it, Granny, if I can’t see you, how do you expect me not to go through you?” He pulled on one boot. “Hard to believe this beach bunny hasn’t caught on in all this time that she’s not among the living. Didn’t it occur to her after the first ten or so years? Didn’t she wonder why she wasn’t hungry or thirsty—or why she can swim in November without being cold?” He pulled on the other boot.

  “She seems a bit tetched to me,” Granny offered. Emma relayed her words to Phil.

  Emma got up and shed her robe once more. “I don’t think she’s tetched, as you put it, Granny. But she does seem naïve, almost childlike.” This time, Emma succeeded in getting dressed without interruption, thinking and talking as she clothed herself. “I think on some level Tessa does know she’s dead, but she’s in denial about it. Maybe that childish behavior is part of her defense mechanism.”

  Finished dressing, Phil sat back in his chair, waiting for Emma. “Maybe she needs a ghost shrink.”

  Emma stopped dressing and looked at Granny. Granny looked back. “Milo,” the two of them said at the same time, but Phil only heard Emma.

  “I was kidding, Emma.”

  Emma pulled on her sweater and reached for her cell phone. “Kidding or not, who better to tell us what may be going on with this ghost?” She scrolled through the phone’s address book and selected Milo’s number.

  Milo Ravenscroft was the clairvoyant who had connected Granny with Emma, then mentored Emma through the process of accepting and learning about her special gifts. It was also Milo who had recommended Emma as the host of the paranormal talk show. He was a short, nerdy man in his forties who lived in a modest house where the western boundary of Los Angeles bordered Santa Monica. He was a well-known clairvoyant but opted for a quiet life outside of the limelight. Emma respected him for that.

  After Milo answered and pleasantries were exchanged, Emma used the speaker feature on her phone and got to the reason for her call.

  “It is very possible, Emma,” Milo told her, “that this spirit is in denial about her death. Sometimes, for various reasons, spirits do need help going to the other side. And they all need to cross over, even if they choose to come back to visit, like Granny.”

  “But how can we help her?”

  Phil ran a hand over his smooth skull in frustration. “Oh, boy.

  I can see this romantic weekend going south real quick.”

  “I’m not sure, Emma,” Milo continued, “without meeting her myself. But try to find out what happened to her at the time of her death. Maybe something traumatic occurred.”

  Phil leaned forward in his chair to be heard through the small speaker. “You don’t consider dying traumatic?”

  “Of course it’s traumatic, Phil.” Milo laughed lightly. “But something very unusual might have happened to make her block it out or deny it. While spirits don’t have the same sense of time and location—or even sense of surroundings—that we do, they were still real people at one time. Just as we don’t fully understand the true depth of the human mind, we have even less understanding of what happens to that mind at the time of—or after—death.”

  Phil shook his head. “Tell you what, Milo. Why don’t you come on over here and hold a few couch sessions with this Tessa ghost?”

  “I would find that quite fascinating, Phil, but this weekend is out of the question for me. I’m in Chicago right now and won’t be home until Tuesday. Tell you what, though, Emma: find out what you can about Tessa, and when I return, we’ll put our heads together.”

  “Okay,” Emma agreed. “If she reappears, I’ll see what I can learn.”

  “Is Granny there?”

  “I’m here, Milo.” Still uncomfortable with some modern conveniences, the ghost hovered with caution by the phone held by Emma.

  “Granny, see if you can get Tessa to come to the mainland for a session. You might have to guide her over when we do it. Almost fetch her, if you will. I’ll bet she died on Catalina and hasn’t left the island since.”

  “Ah.” In his comfortable seat, Phil stretched, raising his arms over his head, clasping his hands together, and extending them as far as he could. Finished, he added his two cents. “May I ask a question here?”

  Milo paused. Granny and Emma turned to Phil and waited.

  “Has this ghost even asked for your help? She might be happy just the way she is. If so, why upset her apple cart?” When no one replied, Phil continued. “She’s already dead. It’s not like you’re going to change her situation by meddling.”

  Granny was the first to turn her attention toward the sliding doors that led to the balcony. Emma’s eyes followed. Phil turned in his chair to look too, but only because Emma had. He saw nothing. Granny and Emma saw the young spirit. She was standing just outside on the balcony, looking in. Her earlier smile had been replaced by a frown.

  “You guys there?” Milo called from the phone.

  Emma pulled the phone close to her mouth and whispered, “Tessa North just appeared.”

  Emma motioned to the young spirit to come in. Phil got up out of his chair and moved to the other side of the room. With the bathroom sliding doors still open, he sat on the edge of the whirlpool tub and watched, keeping his senses alert. He wasn’t sure what was about to happen, but he was pretty sure he wouldn’t understand much of it. With further encouragement from Emma, the young ghost walked through the glass doors and entered the room, making it even cooler. The change in temperature was something Phil did understand. He knew a new spirit had entered the room. His stomach growled. Whatever was going to happen, he hoped they’d make it snappy so he and Emma could get to breakfast. Ghosts may not need to eat, but they did.

  He hoisted one booted leg across the opposite knee. “I’m guessing now might be a good time to ask her if she wants that help or not.”

  After Granny and Tessa North disappeared, Phil and Emma had a late breakfast at Jack’s Country Kitchen, then resumed their weekend plans with a long walk uphill to the Wrigley Memorial and Botanical Gardens. Though cool and damp that morning, the fog had burned off, leaving the air warm with a crisp accent.

  Holding hands, they followed a small map of the city, wandering first down Catalina Avenue to Tremont Street, then along Tremont until it intersected with Avalon Canyon Road. Along the way, they passed small, colorful houses, many built in the shotgun style, standing eaves to eaves on the limited soil. At Avalon Canyon Road, they turned left, leaving behind the more densely populated area. According to the map, at the end of Avalon Canyon Road, they would find the botanical gardens. Phil had wanted to rent a golf cart, the most common mode of transportation on the island, but Emma had held her ground, citing that they needed the exercise.

  “Didn’t we get enough exercise back at the hotel last night?” Phil shot her a sly look. “And this morning?”

  “And didn’t you just fill up on biscuits and gravy? Not to mention sausages and a three-egg omelet.”

  “And enjoyed every morsel.” He winked at her. “Hey, Fancy Pants, not my problem if you don’t eat red meat. A sausage or two might do you good once in a while.”

  “Yuck. My blueberry pancakes were just fine, thank you.”

  Fancy Pants was the nickname Phil had tagged her with when they’d first met. At that time, he’d meant it as a negative moniker, but now it was his pet name for her. And as the nickname had moved from negative to affectionate, so Emma’s feelings about it had changed from annoyance to enjoyment.

  They walked a few more steps, passing the island’s fire station. “Odd, isn’t it?” she observed with a smile. “I’m the city girl and you’re the country boy, yet I’m the one who wants to hike and spend time outside.”

  “I spend plenty of time outsid
e on the ranch. Right now, I’m on vacation. Didn’t realize I’d be on a forced march.”

  “And aren’t you glad I had you change your boots for athletic shoes?”

  Phil growled with pretend annoyance. Emma saw physical exercise as a form of entertainment, while he saw it as a means to get things done, like working around the ranch he shared with his aunt and uncle, Susan and Glen Steveson, or spending time on a treadmill because his doctor had ordered him to do it. But as much as he groused, he really did enjoy the activities he shared with Emma and had never felt better.

  Emma laughed. “I’ll make it up to you.”

  “You bet you will, Fancy Pants.” He stopped her in her tracks and planted a big kiss on her mouth. She melted into his strong, warm arms.

  “I’ll make it up to you about Granny, too.”

  “No problem there, so long as she’s not in the peanut gallery when we’re feeling frisky. And as long as I don’t end up at the bottom of your priority list.”

  “Not a chance, cowboy.” Emma’s smile turned quickly into a frown. “Seriously, Phil, do you mind very much about the ghosts?”

  Phil Bowers looked into her clear blue eyes, feeling his heart swell at the kindness and affection—and love—radiating from them. He stuck a hand into his pants pocket and fingered the small box he’d put there earlier.

  “Not really. I’d mind it more if you were boring. And, Emma Whitecastle, you are anything but boring.” After looking around, he changed his mind and removed his hand from his pocket, using it to cup her cheek instead. He kissed her quickly again before they resumed their walk.

  “So,” he said, after they’d walked a few more yards, “what’s the deal on this new ghost? Remember, I only heard your side of it.”

  He had asked about it over breakfast, but Emma stalled, saying she’d tell him when they weren’t in such a public place.

  The ghost of Tessa North had been reluctant at first, but she soon relaxed in their presence. With curiosity, she’d looked at Phil, who was staring in her direction.

  “He can’t see me?” Her question wasn’t one of concern, but of interest.