Dead Girls Are Easy

by Terri Garey

  “Leave the bracelet.” I wanted to look at it again?the one I’d sold had been worth twice that. “I’ll clean it later.”

  Evan turned away with his box of shinies, obviously looking forward to his jewelry cleaning session. Nothing made him happier than to make pretty things sparkle.

  “You did good, Queen Supreme.”

  “I did, didn’t I?”

  “Must you always be so smug?”

  “I must.”

  And he was gone, having made me laugh again. My eyes fell on the bracelet, and I stopped laughing. It was definitely the same one?there couldn’t be two with a tiny nick in the lacquer at the exact same place. The nice old lady I’d sold it to was probably dead, and that made me sad.

  It also made me think about another old lady, Granny Julep, whom I’d been trying to avoid thinking about all week. I’d checked the obituaries in the paper once or twice, that was all.

  “Those were my husband’s cuff links.”

  I nearly jumped out of my skin. There was a woman standing right in front of me, and I hadn’t heard her come in.

  “Whoa…” I took a step back, clutching the bracelet to my chest. “I didn’t know anyone else was here…” Then what she’d said dawned on me. “Did you say something about cuff links?”

  The woman smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry, dear. I don’t care about them.” Her wrinkled face and gray hair looked familiar. She winked at me like a young girl sharing secrets. “Can’t say I cared much for my husband, either. Luther was a hard man, but never in the ways that counted, if you know what I mean.”

  I did, but I had no idea what to say in response. Did I know this woman?

  “Don’t you remember me, dear? I was in here a few weeks ago with my friends from the Red Hat Club.”

  The top of my head started to tingle.

  “You were sweet enough to help me pick out a gift for my granddaughter.” She gestured toward the bracelet I was still clutching. “But I never got a chance to give it to her.”

  She was standing two feet away from me, as solid as I was, but something wasn’t right.

  “Here you go. Take it.” I held out the bracelet, a terrible suspicion forming. “I’m really sorry about the mix-up…my friend Evan went to an estate sale in Buckhead, and even though I’m sure he’s got a receipt, there must’ve been a mistake…” I was babbling, and I knew it. “It must’ve been in the wrong box.” Take the bracelet and go, lady.

  She shook her head sadly, and my heart sank. “I need your help, dear.”

  I shook mine. “No, thank you.”

  Even though my response was technically the wrong one based on her statement, it was the right one for me. Her wrinkled face showed disappointment, and when she refused to reach for the bracelet, I knew for sure what was happening.

  Another unquiet spirit, asking for help, and after what had happened with Caprice, I was so not interested in helping.

  “I’m sorry, dear. We haven’t been properly introduced, have we, and here I am asking you for favors.” She looked at me sorrowfully. “Do you have a grandmother, dear?”

  When I didn’t answer, she kept talking as if I had. “My name is Violet Van Dyke, of the Morgan County Van Dykes.”

  Of course. The Morgan County Van Dykes. For one wild second I wondered if she expected me to curtsy.

  “I know it’s a lot to ask, dear, but if you could see that my granddaughter Cindy got that bracelet back, it would mean a great deal to me.”

  “Lady…”

  “It’s Mrs. Van Dyke, dear, but you may call me Violet.” She fixed her faded blue eyes on me, smiling sweetly. Her tea-length dress was a creamy satin damask, formal enough for a wedding…or a funeral.

  “Violet,” I hoped my voice didn’t shake, “are you…”

  “I’m dead, dear.” She seemed oddly content with it. “And I’m ready to go. But the last words my granddaughter and I had were harsh ones”—Violet looked away, misty-eyed—“over that worthless husband of hers. I died with her thinking I didn’t love her anymore, and I’d like to fix that before I go on.”

  I must have been getting used to dead people, because as freaky as this was, it was kind of interesting. She knew where she was going, but she wasn’t ready to go. How did one get to choose?

  “If you could find it in your heart to help me, I’d be ever so grateful.” Violet knew how to play the gracious Southern belle card. Throw in a dose of grandmotherly guilt and only Rhett Butler himself would be able to not give a damn.

  “You want me to give your granddaughter this bracelet.” I kept my voice flat, deciding to get right to the point.

  “That’s right, dear.”

  “Or what?”

  Violet looked confused. “I beg your pardon?”

  “What will you do if I don’t give your granddaughter this bracelet?”

  Forget Rhett Butler…Scarlet O’Hara herself would’ve been proud of the old lady’s response. Her face fell, lower lip trembling. “I guess I’ll just fade away?heartbroken and unforgiven. It’s very tiring to stay, you know.”

  No, I didn’t know, but I was glad to hear it.

  “You’ll go away…you’ll leave me alone.” I was beyond the niceties. I mean, I was sorry she was dead and all, but I had my own life to live.

  She perked up. “I will, dear. I promise.” Violet looked me straight in the eye, giving me a decisive nod. Her carefully coiffed gray hair fit her head like a helmet.

  “You won’t ever bother me again.”

  One penciled eyebrow arched. “There’s no need to be rude, dear. I said I’d leave you alone…a promise is a promise.”

  I flushed, hating how quickly my manners kicked in. “I apologize. It’s nothing personal.” Old habits died hard, unlike certain little old ladies; I may have been going through a rough time in my personal life, but at leas I was still alive and kicking.

  Violet gave me a nod, graciously accepting my apology as her due. She smiled encouragingly, looking hopeful.

  This particular favor didn’t sound too hard. I could make up a story to tell the granddaughter about the bracelet. With any luck, I’d never have to mention a visit from her dead grandmother. “Tell me where to go,” I said, resigned.

  Violet let out a refined chuckle, her “pitiful” routine forgotten. “Oh dear,” she said, “don’t ever ask anyone to do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Tell you where to go.”

  For a society grande dame, Violet had quite the naughty sense of humor.

  “The address, Violet.” I couldn’t help but smile, just a little. “Give me your granddaughter’s address.”

  CHAPTER 17

  A half hour later I was in the extremely upscale Atlanta neighborhood of Buckhead, craning my neck at some beautiful homes. It was hard to read the house numbers through the jumble of dogwoods and azaleas, and would be nearly impossible in the spring, when the shrubs would be covered in masses of pink and white blooms. The rich liked their flowers, and their privacy.

  The neighborhood was gorgeous…big estate homes nestled on wooded lots, gently sloping lawns and stone fences. Some went for the rustic look, while others went for show; there were quite a few red brick Colonials, tall white columns, and shaded porches, elegant throwbacks to the grand old plantation homes.

  “This is it,” Violet said from the passenger seat. “This is Cindy’s house.”

  The private drive was marked with a discreet sign: 1800 BROOKWOOD. It looped up to what appeared to be a monument to concrete and glass, a squared-off block of stone made only slightly less imposing by some decorative cornice work above the front door.

  “Nice,” I said, only to be polite. I much preferred a home with a little character. This one looked like a museum.

  “Yes.” Violet sighed, as though disappointed. “That idiot husband of hers does seem to know how to make money.” She gave a little sniff. “Though I know for a fact that his daddy gave him the down payment.”

  I kept my mout
h shut, as I had for most of the drive. Violet was very chatty, and I’d already heard all I needed to hear about her darling granddaughter, Cindy, and Cindy’s “idiot husband.”

  My cell phone rang. I pulled my car to a stop in the driveway, then got my phone from my bag. The caller ID said JOE.

  I looked at Violet and put up a finger, then flipped it open.

  “Hey there, handsome. I’ve missed you.”

  “Is that how you always answer the phone?” he teased. “Do you even know who this is?”

  “It’s Paolo, right? The cute guy from last night?”

  “Excuse me,” I could hear the smile in Joe’s voice, and it made me smile, too. “But I was the cute guy from last night.” Still playing along, he added, “You must’ve forgotten how many women were hitting on me.”

  “I only remember one,” I said, “and she would be me.”

  “There ya go, then.” Joe sounded completely satisfied with that answer. “Where are you? I called the shop and Evan said you were out.”

  I didn’t want to tell Joe where I was. I felt guilty, but this was only going to take a few minutes, and it was no big deal. Joe and I had spent a fun, peaceful week together, and I was in no hurry to spoil it by telling him about Violet.

  “I’m just running an errand.” That wasn’t a lie?it was the truth. I knew he wanted to keep an eye on me, but I was perfectly safe out here among the lifestyles of the rich and famous. Some private security guard probably already had me under surveillance.

  What was Violet’s granddaughter going to do…snub me to death?

  I’d tell Joe all about it later, over a glass of wine.

  “I’m heading back to the store as soon as I’m finished, and Evan’s coming over for wine at my place later. Wanna come?”

  Hard to believe Evan hadn’t tattled about Violet already?he hadn’t been happy to find out the Juliana bracelet had a spirit attached to it, but he sure hadn’t argued about taking it back. I’d told him where I was going and what I was doing, and then I practically ordered him to keep his mouth shut if Joe called.

  “I’m still not crazy about you going back to your house, Nicki. Stay with me another night.”

  “Joe,” I said gently, trying to ignore Violet as she fidgeted beside me, “it’s my home. It’s where I live. And it’s been a week without…” Glancing at my elderly passenger, I decided to quit while I was ahead. “You don’t need to worry. Everything’s okay.”

  There was a brief silence, then Joe said, “I have something to tell you. I’ve hired a private investigator to find Kelly.”

  I blinked at the sudden change of subject.

  “You did what?”

  “I want it over, Nicki, done. For the last four years I haven’t cared, but now I do. I want the divorce finalized.”

  Hearing those words made my stomach knot and my heart leap. Joe was moving forward, and that was good. On the other hand, when and if he found Kelly, everything?everything?would change.

  “I only wanna be with you, Nicki.”

  Despite the fact that I’d been staying with him, his comment was as close to a declaration of commitment as we’d gotten. We hadn’t even discussed exclusive sex yet.

  “But what if…” I wasn’t even sure myself what the but was, until I said it. “…what if she really is my sister?”

  “Then we’ll deal with that, too.” Joe hesitated, then added firmly, “Together.”

  The front seat of my car became claustrophobic. Violet was staring through the window toward the house, head turned away, but it felt as if she was a third party to our conversation. This was a discussion I wasn’t sure I was ready for, and I didn’t need an audience.

  I unbuckled my seat belt and slid out, grateful for the rush of crisp air. “Listen, can I call you later?” Gravel crunched under my feet as I shut the car door. “I don’t have a lot of privacy at the moment.”

  One crisis at a time.

  Joe didn’t ask any questions, but I could tell he was disappointed. “Sure. You’ll have to leave me a message?my shift doesn’t end until eight.”

  “How about a late dinner, then? I’ll cook something.”

  His answer was slightly more cheerful. “You got a deal.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  I hung up and looked around for Violet but didn’t see her. She wasn’t in the front seat anymore, but since she seemed able to come and go as she pleased, I figured she was already inside. I checked my purse for the bracelet, and with a shrug, headed up the steps to the front door.

  Big stone planters with precisely trimmed topiaries flanked the steps. The doorbell chimes sounded like the prelude to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.

  The door opened, and time stood still.

  “Yes?”

  The man in the doorway was about thirty, good-looking in a preppy kind of way, except for the pouchy bags beneath his eyes and the beginnings of a potbelly. He was holding a Bloody Mary in one hand, wearing khaki shorts and a striped Polo shirt. I watched, momentarily speechless, while he did a double take and said, “Nicki? Nicki Styx?”

  My old boyfriend, Erik Mitchell. Correction: My old fiancé, Erik Mitchell. The one who’d broken my heart when I caught him in the backseat of a car with that skanky blond cheerleader, Cin?

  “Who’s here, Erik?”

  And there she was, the skanky blond cheerleader herself, looking anything but skanky, unfortunately. Fashionably thin, blond hair in a pageboy, blue cashmere sweater set with matching linen pants. She looked like a model for Ann Taylor…one of the “bitchy rich” kind.

  “Nicki?” Cindy’s perfect little nose twitched before she caught herself and pasted a fake smile on her face. “Is that you?”

  No, it’s the Avon lady, you dumb shit.

  Out loud, I said, “Wow. Erik and Cindy. Is this awkward, or what?”

  Erik had the grace not to answer, but Cindy’s fake smile just got faker. She took a step forward, resting her hand on the door. “You look great, Nicki,” she gushed, effectively blocking Erik from opening the door any farther. Her gaze flicked over my hair and clothes. “Still the rebel, I see.”

  My white ruffled blouse was ruched with see-through strips of lace, a sexy yet modest look from the fifties that still worked today, as far as I was concerned. Judging by the looks Erik was sneaking behind Cindy’s back, it worked for him, too. And while my hip huggers were a far cry from Cindy’s linen capris, they were original Paris Blues, and fit me in all the right places.

  “You know me…a regular rebel without a cause,” I said, giving fake smile for fake smile. “Can I come in?”

  Cindy looked surprised I’d even asked, and I couldn’t blame her. Visiting with a woman you’d stabbed in the back twelve years ago didn’t seem like a pleasant way to spend the morning.

  I, on the other hand, didn’t care if it was pleasant or not. I was on a mission. But I’d be damned if I’d stand on this woman’s doorstep like a delivery boy while I completed it. “I’m here about your grandmother, Violet Van Dyke.”

  Cindy’s fake smile faltered.

  “I have something she wanted you to have.”

  “You knew my grandmother.” It was impossible not to hear the skeptical note in Cindy’s voice.

  “For God’s sake, Cindy.” Erik brushed her aside, impatient. He held the door wide. “Let her in.”

  Cindy shot her husband a look that promised there’d be trouble later, but Erik ignored her. He gestured with the hand that held the Bloody Mary, welcoming me to his home. “Come in, Nicki, come in.”

  The foyer was huge, rising two stories to a bright bank of upper story windows. A curved balustrade and wide staircase led upstairs. The floor beneath my feet was creamy vanilla Italian tile.

  “Yes, Nicki, come in.” Cindy was obviously not to be outdone in the hospitality department. Her heeled sandals clicked on the floor, echoing weirdly in the cavernous foyer. “Let’s go into the morning room.”

  The morning room? Please.

 
I followed Cindy’s size four ass into an area just off the front door, a big room with overstuffed Elizabeth Ashley furniture and bay windows on three sides. The whole time, I was conscious that Erik was right behind me, no doubt checking out my ass.

  I took some consolation from the fact that I had nothing to be ashamed of, and deliberately added a little extra sway in my walk.

  Eat your heart out, you faithless bastard.

  Cindy perched herself on an overstuffed chair, gesturing carelessly toward the couch. She didn’t bat an eye when Erik sprawled next to me, still clutching his damn drink.

  It was barely ten o’clock in the morning, for heaven’s sake.

  “So what’s this about my grandmother?” Cindy’s eyes were hard, her fake smile firmly in place.

  “She came into my store a couple of weeks ago with a group of Red Hat ladies,” I said, reaching into my purse. I brought out the ribboned box I’d put the bracelet in and held it toward her. “She bought this for you.”

  Cindy stared at me, making no move to take the box. Her hands were clasped in front of her, ankles crossed and to the side, a perfect example of perfect posture.

  “She meant it as an apology,” I added. “She said you’d had a fight.”

  For a moment, a slight catch in Cindy’s breath was the only sign she’d heard me. Erik moved restlessly on the couch, taking a sip of his drink.

  I glanced toward the bay window, and there was Violet, sitting quietly on a window cushion, watching us.

  “You have your own store?” Erik had apparently decided to fill the silence with small talk. “That’s great! Good to know you’re doing well.”

  Cindy obviously wasn’t interested in whether I was doing well or not. She shot Erik a quelling look, lips thinned, and practically snatched the box from my hand.

  “Why would my grandmother confide in you?” The suspicion in Cindy’s tone was unmistakable. “And why would you do anything nice for me?” Her gaze flicked again to Erik, but she kept her spine straight and her head high.

  I guessed that was as close to an apology as I’d ever get.