Ghost in the Polka Dot Bikini: A Ghost of Granny Apples Mystery (5 page)

He released her hands and picked up the box. “Of course, it would have helped had this
not
been a ring box, but it was the only box they had that fit what’s inside.”

“I don’t deserve it now, Phil.”

“Hush, darling. Let’s just rewind the last ten minutes or so. Okay?”

She cleared her throat. “Okay.”

Phil got up from the table. He stuck the box back into his pocket before sliding back into the booth next to her. After a few seconds, he dug back into the pocket of his jeans and produced the box, placing it in front of her.

“Got you something, Fancy Pants.”

Doubt clouded her brow. “You think it’s that easy to forget and move on?”

He looked into her lovely but still-watery eyes. “Most things in life don’t come with the opportunity of a do-over. This moment does.”

Her heart filled with relief as she leaned over and kissed him hard on the lips. In spite of his outside gruffness, Phil Bowers was one of the most decent and kind men she’d ever met.

After the kiss, Phil urged her to open the box. “I was going to give you this tonight at dinner, but earlier today, when you asked if I minded about the ghosts, I decided it would be fun to give it to you now.”

Emma opened the box. After a few seconds of disbelief, she laughed out loud. Several people turned to look at them again before returning to their own business.

“Where did you ever find this?” she asked, still surprised. Nestled inside the box was a small brooch shaped like a ghost. Not the kind Emma saw, but along the lines of a bed sheet with eyeholes. Its body was outfitted with pavé diamonds. Two tiny sapphires staked out the eyes.

“I found it in a jewelry store near my office. Part of an upscale Halloween collection, no doubt.” He took the pin from the box and fastened it to Emma’s shirt. “Guess we’re pinned now. Is that okay?” He winked at her.

“So it’s true—you really don’t mind the ghosts.”

“I think of you and Granny, and even the others, as a package deal.”

“Kind of a
love me, love my ghosts
thing, huh?”

Phil leaned over and kissed Emma’s forehead. “Now you’re catching on.”

“Phil, look at this.”

They were in a small bookshop on Crescent Street. Emma had picked up a couple of books on local ghosts and was browsing through them, deciding which ones were worth buying, when a tidbit of information in one of them caught her eye. She carried the book down a nearby aisle to where Phil was checking out the latest paperback thrillers.

Phil read the heading of the paragraph indicated by the tip of Emma’s finger. “‘Bikini Ghost.’” He looked up at Emma. “Is this our ghost?”

“Sure seems so.”

Phil adjusted his reading glasses and read the small paragraph. “For years, longtime Catalina resident Mrs. Sandra Sechrest claimed that a ghost wearing nothing but a polka dot bikini has been haunting the beach in Avalon near the pier. To date, no one but Mrs. Sechrest has reported such sightings.”

Phil took off his glasses and looked up at Emma. “So you’re not the only one who has seen her.”

“But why me, Phil? The other spirit sightings in these books have been witnessed or confirmed by several people, but Tessa was only reported by this Sechrest woman. Look here.” Emma indicated the next paragraph. “According to this, the author tried several times to validate the ghost in the bikini but could not, and it states that the apparition is only mentioned in the book as a possibility. These other two books on spirits don’t even mention Tessa at all— they only cover the usual historical sightings.”

“How can you be sure Tessa is the ghost this book is referencing?” Phil grinned. “Who knows, there might be a whole bevy of dead bikini beauties out there.”

Emma screwed up her face. “Somehow I doubt that.”

She checked the first few pages of the book for a publishing date. “This book was published about five years ago. I wonder if Mrs. Sechrest still lives on the island?”

While purchasing the books, Emma asked the young clerk behind the counter if she knew a Sandra Sechrest. She did not but added that she was fairly new to the island. As soon as they returned to their hotel room, Phil plopped down on the bed with his new novel while Emma called information and asked for the number of a “Sandra Sechrest” or “S. Sechrest.” There was no listing.

As soon as Emma settled down next to Phil to read her own new purchases, her cell phone rang. It was a man from the
Catalina Islander
, the local newspaper.

After a short introduction, Emma got down to why she’d called. “I’m looking for information about a death that would have occurred on the island in the late sixties, June of 1968 to be exact. I was told your paper might have archive copies going back that far.”

“We do, but the copies are archived at the Catalina Island Museum. It’s housed in the ground floor of the Casino.”

“Would it be possible for me to look through them?”

“I’m sure they’d let you, but you might want to call first and make an appointment.” He gave Emma the number.

Before disconnecting, Emma had one final question. “Excuse me, but have you lived on the island a long time?”

“Most of my life.”

“Do you know Sandra Sechrest?”

“Yes, of course. Most everyone knew Sandy Sechrest. She was a colorful local fixture here on the island.”

“Was?”

“Yes, Sandy died two months ago.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. Sandy lived a long and happy life. She died of natural causes at the age of eighty-four.”

“I picked up a book today that mentioned something about her seeing a ghost in a bikini. Do you know anything about that?”

The man laughed. “I’ve heard that story several times—not sure how much of it I believe. Sandy was a delightful but eccentric woman. After her husband died, she lived alone in a small cottage here in town, just blocks from the beach. Every day, rain or shine, she would walk to the beach to watch the sunset over the bay. Did that right up until the day she died. People often heard her talking to herself, especially when she sat watching the sunset. Guess she was chatting with her dead husband.” The man’s tone was one of affectionate amusement.

Emma’s brain went on alert. “Did she always sit in the same place to watch the sunset?”

“Sure did. It was one of the benches near the pier—on the right side of the pier if you’re looking out at the sea. She was there every day like clockwork. Still miss seeing her. That’s how we knew something was wrong. The day she died, she didn’t show up. Someone went to her home and found her dead. Her heart had given out just a few hours earlier.”

After the call, Emma made another, this time to the Catalina Island Museum. A recording informed her that the museum was closed until ten the next morning.

Phil had stopped reading and was watching and listening. “Good news or bad news?”

“A little of both. The good news is the papers are archived at the museum, and we can probably research them tomorrow when the museum opens. The bad news is Sandra Sechrest is dead. She died just two months ago at the age of eighty-four.”

Emma left the bed and walked to the balcony doors and opened them. Stepping out onto the balcony, she gazed out across the beach and sea while her mind sorted through its own archiving system. Sandy Sechrest was the only person who had claimed to see a ghost in a bikini. And every day, Mrs. Sechrest had watched the sunset from a spot on the beach near the pier. Emma turned her head to the right and tried to study the beach down by the pier, down where she had first seen Tessa North that morning. The sun was setting. She checked her watch. It was about four thirty. On a November evening, sunset would be very soon. As if in agreement, the twinkle lights in the palm trees came to life against the waning daylight. Emma shivered in the growing cold.

Dashing back into the room, she grabbed a jacket and made for the door to the suite. “Want to see the sunset?” she asked Phil over her shoulder as she yanked open the door.

Phil hopped off the bed, snagged his own jacket, and ran after her. “This a romantic stroll or another march?”

“I have a hunch. Hurry up or we might miss it.”

Emma crossed the street in front of the hotel and moved fast along the beachfront toward the pier. Phil caught up and matched her long, quick strides.

“Miss what?”

“Sandy Sechrest.”

“But I thought she was dead.” When Emma gave him a quick glance, he added, “Oh, I see.”

“According to the man from the newspaper, for years, every day at sunset, Sandy Sechrest came down to the beach to watch the sunset. It’s just a hunch, but you never know.”

They covered the distance from their hotel to the pier almost at a jog. Once at the pier, Emma slowed down and started scanning the various benches that looked out toward the ocean. What she saw made her screech to a stop.

“Wow.”

“Wow what?” Slightly winded, Phil stopped beside her.

For a full minute, Emma didn’t say anything. She wasn’t sure how many there were, but it seemed Sandy Sechrest wasn’t the only one who enjoyed watching the sunset. In the fading daylight, the shimmering outlines of spirits came into view like sequins scattered on a gray velvet gown. She turned slowly in a circle, taking in the section of beach they’d just passed, as well as the section ahead of them. The spirits—male and female, young and old—were all turned toward the sea, all watching the end of the day. Here and there were the living also watching the sun say good night, oblivious to the dead amongst them.

“What is it, Emma?”

She leaned in close to Phil so the live folks nearby couldn’t hear her. “There are many ghosts here right now—perhaps a dozen. They’re scattered up and down the beach, watching the sunset like it’s some sort of ritual.”

Phil jerked this way and that, craning to see something, but he couldn’t. “Are you kidding me?”

She shook her head. “I don’t recall seeing them last night.”

“Last night at this time,” he reminded her, “we were having an early dinner at the country club.” He pulled Emma close and whispered, “Do they know you can see them?”

“Not sure. But if they did know and were afraid, I wouldn’t be able to.”

As if answering Phil’s question, one of the spirits nearest Emma turned and looked at them. It was a bent old man with a full beard. He nodded to Emma and gave her a quick impish wink, causing Emma to laugh.

“What?” asked Phil.

“They know. One of them, a little old gnarled man, just winked at me.”

“You mean a ghost just hit on my girl?” Phil chuckled. “Not sure I like that. Doesn’t he know we’re going steady?”

“Smart alec.”

“Hey, maybe you can fix the old geezer up with Granny.”

Emma took Phil’s hand and started tugging him forward. “Come on, let’s see if we can find Sandy.”

“You have any idea what she looks like?”

“No, but I know she was very old when she died and should be on or near one of the benches on this side of the pier.”

It wasn’t difficult for Emma to spot a likely candidate as Sandy Sechrest. The ghost of an elderly woman sat on one of the tile benches. Her hair was white and worn in a short pixie cut on top of a round, wizened face. She was short and slightly plump, dressed in baggy trousers and a loose man’s shirt with the sleeves rolled almost to her elbows. The shirt was plain except for stains that looked like paint splatters. Her face was turned to the sea, chin up, eyes closed, as if in prayer. At her feet sat a cross-legged Tessa North.

Next to the old woman sat a young live couple, bundled against the cooling night, kissing. Tessa looked up and waved happily at Emma. With her chin, Emma indicated the couple. Tessa caught on and nodded back with a giggle, as if keeping a delicious secret.

“You find her?” whispered Phil into Emma’s ear.

Emma turned into him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Yes, I think so,” she whispered back. “On that bench over there with the necking couple. Tessa’s sitting on the ground in front of the spirit of an elderly woman.”

Shortly after, the young couple left arm in arm. With Phil in tow, Emma approached the ghost of the old woman on the bench.

“Mrs. Sandra Sechrest, I presume?”