Ghost in the Polka Dot Bikini: A Ghost of Granny Apples Mystery (19 page)

“No, Emma, you may not.” His voice migrated from cold to snappish. “It’s time you dropped this foolishness before someone else gets hurt.”

The line went dead.

Following her call with
Paul Feldman, Emma tried to concentrate on working on
The Whitecastle Report
. In light of the overnight interest in her show, during their meeting that morning, the producers had provided several ideas for future shows and wanted Emma to review them and do some preliminary research to see if they would be feasible. She and Jackie had also presented ideas of their own. Jackie was hot to trot about the Catalina concept. Originally planned to be a show about the various spirits haunting the historic island, Jackie felt viewers would be more interested in how the research led to solving a forty-year-old murder.

“It’s a natural,” Jackie had insisted before they went into the meeting. “Murder always brings in the audience. It jacks the ratings.”

Jackie Houchin may still be young, but there was no denying she had a nose for what viewers liked. If
The Whitecastle Report
continued to grow in popularity, Emma planned on suggesting that Jackie be promoted.

“I know you’re right, Jackie, but Tessa’s murder hasn’t been confirmed yet. And the producers may not know about the Denise Dowd connection; I’d rather they didn’t for now, not on the heels of the Grant incident.” Seeing the frustration on Jackie’s face, Emma had added, “Tell you what, if it turns out that Tessa North was murdered and we have proof of it, I will
consider
doing a show about it.”

The young woman had been somewhat mollified by the semi-promise, and Emma knew the cogs in her fertile brain were already planning for the show. Emma, though, wasn’t so sure she’d made a valid promise. If it turned out that George Whitecastle and his friends were somehow involved in Tessa’s death, Emma knew she could never do the show, no matter how spectacular the ratings might be. If it came to that, she hoped Jackie would understand.

As she went through her notes from the morning meeting, Emma expanded on them, fleshing out the one-line ideas into plausible shows. But the more she tried to concentrate on subjects other than Tessa North and Denise Dowd, the more her brain revisited it. It was a car wreck she couldn’t avoid—a car wreck with too many vehicles and unaccounted tire tracks.

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. Lacking 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.