Ghost in the Polka Dot Bikini: A Ghost of Granny Apples Mystery by Sue Ann Jaffarian Page B

be felt.”
    “I certainly hope so.” Peter quickly cleared his throat and turned to Celeste, ready to conduct business. “Today, madam, we have the cauliflower purée you like so well.”
    At Peter’s direction, a young waiter placed thin-stemmed glasses of water and lemon in front of them and followed up with a basket of fragrant flatbreads. Then he took their orders. Celeste ordered the cauliflower purée, followed by the grilled chicken and fresh pear salad. Emma ordered the soup with a seared ahi tuna salad. Before leaving, Peter asked if they were comfortable and offered to turn on the tall space heater near their table. The two women said they were fine. With a half bow, he left to attend to the other wealthy and famous patrons scattered around the courtyard.
    Celeste leaned toward Emma and whispered, “How did you know Edmund had died?”
    Passing off the question lightly, Emma answered, “I heard it somewhere.”
    “The restaurant was closed for a week recently, but it was never clear why. I wish they’d told someone.”
    Emma watched as Edmund’s ghost silently supervised the comings and goings of his restaurant. “Some people are very private about such things.”
    After a short silence, Emma returned to their prior conversation and the question she had wanted to ask. “What did you mean by competition, Celeste? Earlier, when you referred to me and Carolyn? I certainly don’t feel that way.”
    With a small sigh, Celeste ran a delicate finger down the side of her water goblet. “What do you think Carolyn was doing all that time with Grant?”
    Emma shrugged and picked up a piece of bread laced with fresh rosemary. “I always thought she was just one of his many playmates.”
    “And I’m sure so did my son. But while you and Grant were playing marital tug-of-war, Carolyn was playing her own game. And she was playing to win, my dear.”
    “Excuse me, Celeste, if I don’t find my failed marriage a suitable topic of sport and entertainment, although the tabloids certainly did.” Emma took a small bite of bread, chewed, and swallowed. “If it was a game, it was one I didn’t wish to play any longer, nor did I think Grant a prize worth keeping.”
    With her water glass held close to her face, Celeste watched Emma over the rim before taking a drink. When she put the glass down, a dainty lipstick smudge was left behind. “I hope you’re not so naïve to think you were the first Hollywood wife to be cheated on. No-talent actresses like Carolyn are like barnacles. They find a sturdy ship, fasten themselves to it, and hang on. If they get knocked off, they’ll find another ship.” Celeste’s voice was thick with amusement.
    “I know it happens all the time. But if you’ll recall, when Carolyn became pregnant, Grant made the choice for all of us.” This was not how Emma wanted to spend lunch with Celeste, and she hated that she felt the need to add one last jab. “And quite frankly, if it was a game, I think I emerged the grand prize winner in the end.”
    “Son or no son, Emma, you might be right about that. Is that darling little bauble on your sweater an indication of something serious?”
    Emma fingered the diamond ghost and smiled. “Phil and I are enjoying each other’s company, but we’re not rushing into anything.”
    “That’s nice to hear.” Celeste smiled at her briefly before dropping her head to dab the corners of her mouth with her napkin. When she leveled her gray eyes at Emma again, they were dark, like side-by-side caves. “I don’t think Grant is happy with his choice.”
    “That’s not my concern, Celeste. The only thing I have in common with him any longer is Kelly and my love for you and George.”
    The waiter came with their soup. The two women took their first spoonfuls in silence. The soup was the color of fine lace, with a delicate flavor.
    “Speaking of actresses,” Emma began, deciding to forge ahead. “Forty or so years ago, did you ever come across or hear