Some Like it Haunted (A Sophie Rhodes Ghostly Romane Book 2)

by Karen Cantwell

  Myrtle stared at my eggs. “Those eggs look so tasty,” she said. “My mama always made eggs with scallions. I miss eatin’ eggs,” she sighed.

  “You need to see your mother,” I said. “We have to make that happen.”

  “Oh, it’s already arranged,” she said, clapping her hands together.

  “It is?” I hadn’t heard this bit of news.

  “We organized a reading party,” Cal said.

  “We?”

  “Me, Shane, Amy, and Tara.”

  “You’re working with Shane?”

  “He’s an okay guy, once you get to know him,” Cal said. “Oh, and I invited Ron and Dory Ellison. It was Tara’s idea.”

  “That should be interesting. When is it?”

  “Tomorrow night at Shane’s house. Myrtle insisted we wait until you could be there.”

  “That’s so sweet, Myrtle.”

  “I may not be around after, you know? I may see that bright light and head off on my way to be with my mama. I wanted you there so I could say my proper goodbyes.”

  “Come, Myrtle,” Marmaduke said. “You are the haunting virtuoso. Let’s plan a boo-fest.”

  Cal took a swig from his coffee cup. “I have to go too.” He set the cup down and leaned over to kiss me. He stopped just shy of my lips and raised his eyes. “Are we alone? Marmaduke, you’re not still there, are you?”

  When he didn’t receive an answer he took that as his cue and kissed me long and tenderly. “You complete me,” he said.

  I rolled my eyes. “I love you, but you’ve said that every day since my accident.”

  “But I don’t want you to leave me again.”

  I kissed him back. “You could follow through on that marriage proposal.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Marmaduke read me the riot act. I can’t propose again until he sees a detailed design and approves.”

  “Design?”

  “His word, not mine.”

  “Call the good doctor and tell him to invite the money-hungry wench for dinner tonight.” Marmi said later that day. “The details are set. Make it a restaurant. Less work for you. And tell him to bring his parents.”

  “A restaurant, Marmi? Is that a good idea? I’ve kind of had my fill of public haunting.”

  “Dear Sophie,” he answered, rubbing his hands together like a sneaky thief. “Should all go according to plan, she will be a sniveling mess of nerves long before she arrives at your table.”

  That was a plan I could get behind.

  “We will leave you now,” Marmaduke said. “Someone is about to have a visitation from beyond the grave.”

  Cal managed to convince his parents to meet us at Winston’s for a celebratory dinner. We arrived right on time and they were already seated, looking over the menu.

  “Sophie!” Cal’s father said, rising and shaking my good hand. “It’s wonderful to see you again. Dianne and I were so worried about you. You’re recovering well?”

  Cal pulled my chair out for me.

  I smiled. “I’m feeling almost like new. Thank you both for managing the office while I’ve been out.”

  “No thanks needed. It’s what family does,” said Tom, sitting back down. “Five place settings. Are we expecting another person?”

  “Yes,” Cal said happily. “Rachel.”

  Dianne and Tom exchanged uncomfortable glances. “Oh,” said Dianne.

  “How...nice.” Tom said.

  “You don’t sound thrilled,” said Cal.

  “It’s not that we aren’t grateful,” Dianne said, “but we just hoped maybe—”

  Tom finished her sentence. “That we’d never have to lay eyes on her again. We feel used.”

  Cal sipped from his water glass, then set it down. “Well, who knows. Maybe she’ll have some epiphany and return the money.”

  “Rachel?” Tom asked. “That’s some dream world you live in, son. So, I suppose we have to wait for her to get here before we order, huh?”

  The waiter brought bread and Cal ordered a bottle of champagne. The four of us enjoyed conversation for a while until Tom started getting cranky. He looked at his watch. “What time did you tell her, Cal? I’m getting hungry.”

  “Eight o’clock. What time is it?”

  “It’s twenty after.” He waved the waiter over. “I’m ordering.”

  Dianne nodded. “Me too.”

  Just then, heads turned toward the arched entry. “Callahan!” a woman’s voice could be heard screeching. “I said Callahan! Never mind, I’ll find them myself.”

  Rachel appeared under the archway, her hair falling out of what had probably once been a tight bun. Her blouse clashed with her striped skirt, and she wore one black shoe and one brown. Myrtle floated over her, whispering into her ear. “It’s hell in hell, little Rachel. Aunt Anne knows. Aunt Anne knows.”

  Marmi materialized beside me. “I had a jolly good time speaking through her car radio. I played the role of evangelist believably, if I do say so myself. Fire and brimstone and the like.”

  I smiled and sipped on my champagne.

  “Rachel!” Dianne said. “What on earth is wrong?”

  Rachel just shook her head as more hair fell out of her disintegrating bun. She fell into a chair and fumbled in her purse until she found a pen and checkbook.

  “Don’t make the same mistakes I made,” moaned Myrtle close to Rachel’s head. “Aunt Anne knows.”

  Rachel scribbled on the check while Tom and Dianne watched, stupefied. She ripped off the check and shoved it at Tom.

  She looked at Cal. “I...uh...oh forget it.” She stood and wobbled away.

  “Did you see that?” Tom asked.

  “I couldn’t believe my eyes,” Dianne agreed. “Showing up here drunk like that.”

  Marmaduke and Myrtle collapsed into a fit of laughter.

  Cal and I clinked champagne glasses. The four of us made a pretty good team.

  Dinner was delectable and the company delightful. On the drive home I asked Cal, “Who is Aunt Anne?”

  “Rachel’s aunt, who died in prison.”

  “In prison? For what?”

  “Embezzlement.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  I was beginning to feel so much like my old self that sitting around the apartment all day was nearly unbearable. I was very grateful for the chance to get out to Shane’s house for the much-anticipated reading party.

  I had invited my Grampy along too. He had played hard to get for awhile, but eventually agreed. We picked him up on our way.

  “You look awfully dapper tonight,” I said, making note of the button-down collar and sweater vest topping off a clean pair of khakis. More often than not, his daily wear consisted of jeans with holes and an old sweatshirt.

  “Didn’t know quite how to dress for one of these shindigs. Is it too much?”

  “No, it’s just right.”

  “He cleans up nice, I’d say,” said Myrtle.

  Cal stopped before knocking. “Now remind me because I confuse easily. Who is Myrtle’s daughter?”

  “Jayne,” I told him. “Amy’s mother.”

  “Have I met Jayne?”

  “No. You will tonight.”

  “So Myrtle is Amy’s...”

  “Myrtle is Jayne’s birth mother and Amy’s grandmother.”

  “I hope I don’t screw this up.”

  I kissed his cheek. “I have faith in you.”

  Shane greeted us at the door. He was smartly dressed as well, and unusually gracious as a host. I think Shane was growing up.

  He lowered his voice to a whisper before showing us in. “Is she with you?” he asked.

  “You mean M
yrtle?”

  “I’m here!” she said.

  He looked relieved and stepped aside to let us in. “Thank goodness. Amy seems a little on edge. She’s not sure how her mother will do with this.

  “I’ll go talk to her,” I said. “Is Tara here?”

  “Not yet.”

  We found Amy and her mother Jayne seated on the long leather couch beside Ron and Dory.

  Also already there for a good time were a couple of friends of Amy’s from the hospital. Shane’s mother seemed very excited to meet a medium, and hoped her dead brother might come through to speak with her.

  Amy stood and smiled but I could see that Shane was right about her being on edge.

  “You look great,” she said, pouring herself a glass of lemonade.

  “I feel great. Ready to go back to work.” I made a point of looking at her hands. “You’re shaking.”

  She set the glass down and rubbed her hands together. “It’s weird, you know? This whole thing.”

  I nodded. “I guess so. It’s all par for the course for me anymore. I sometimes forget that not everyone is used to having ghosts around. Spirits. Whatever you want to call them.”

  She nodded. “I’d gotten used to the idea, but it didn’t feel exactly real. Now though, bringing my mother here—that makes it real.”

  “Tara is amazing,” I said. “She’ll run the show and all you have to do is sit back and act surprised and delighted. Does your mother know you’re pregnant?” I whispered.

  “Not yet.” She snuck a peek at her mother, who was engaged in conversation with Ron and Dory. “Shane and I decided to elope. We’re going to surprise everyone with the baby news when we tell them we got married on the sly. To help soften the blow.”

  I’ll admit, I was disappointed. I had been looking forward to being a bridesmaid. “Really? No wedding?”

  “It was getting too difficult to manage and too expensive. And there is some family conflict. Shane’s dad is throwing a fit because he thought we weren’t including him enough. Then his mother is upset because she thinks we’re including him too much. I love them both, don’t get me wrong, but it was all just becoming too much.” She shook her head. “Divorced families and wedding don’t mix.”

  I squeezed Amy’s hand and smiled as I looked over at her soon to be mother-in-law listening intently to some story Grampy was telling her.

  People mingled and nibbled on the cucumber finger sandwiches Amy and Shane had provided.

  Myrtle didn’t leave Jayne’s side. “Didn’t she grow up to be a beautiful woman?” she asked Marmaduke.

  “Yes, she has your eyes and your smile. Quite a striking resemblance.”

  Tara arrived and prepared to get the reading underway. “Hello,” she greeted everyone. “For many reasons, I have decided not to speak with any of you individually prior to this reading.”

  Myrtle fidgeted. “Here we go. I can barely believe this is happening.”

  Her nervous energy was so intense, she caused the lights to flicker.

  Guests murmured among themselves.

  “It’s a little windy out there tonight,” Shane said. “That happens a lot around here in the wind. Weak power lines.”

  Tara quirked her eyebrows and continued. “Someone is coming through to me. She wants to talk to her daughter.”

  “Hey,” said a male ghost appearing behind Cal. “I want to talk to my sister.” He was a mountain of a man with tattoos sprawling across his biceps.

  “Well hear now, my good man, this party was arranged so my friend Myrtle could talk to her daughter. I suggest you wait in the queue.”

  “What if I don’t wanna?” The new ghost faded and then reappeared next to Marmaduke. His stare was threatening.

  “Yes, well, I suppose I’ll leave the order of things to Ms. Wiley. It is her show after all.”

  “Don’t forget me,” said a timid little wisp of a lady ghost. “Um,” she raised her hand. “Dory was my best friend in high school. I’ve been waiting a long time to talk to her. I don’t mean to be pushy, but I’d like a turn.”

  “No one told me all of these other people were going to be here,” Myrtle complained. “Listen, y’all, I was murdered and that’s my grandbaby throwing this party.”

  “I say we draw straws,” the massive man suggested.

  Tara was visibly rattled by the ruckus. She pinched the bridge of her nose and collected herself. “This is why I don’t like group readings,” she mumbled. She shook her head as if she was trying to clear some cobwebs or maybe shake water out of her ears. “Okay, there are a lot of spirits vying for time here. I want you all to respect me and the people in this room waiting to hear from you. I’ll decide who goes first.”

  “Is she talking to us?” Dory asked.

  “No dear,” Ron said. “She’s talking to the gh—I mean, the spirits.”

  She gave him a queer look. “How do you know so much about this? Have you attended one of these without me?”

  “Not exactly.” Ron shrugged, then took a bite of his finger sandwich. “Mm. Delightful. Is that rosemary I taste?”

  “Tarragon,” said Shane.

  “I’d like to get the recipe from you,” Cal said.

  “Sure. Remind me before you leave.”

  Tara surveyed the room of people. “Who here is named...Dana. No, Donna. Anyone named Donna?”

  Shane’s mother raised her hand cautiously, as if afraid someone might bite it off. “I’m Donna.”

  “But I’m getting a different name too. A nickname, maybe. Iguana? Could that be right?”

  Donna laughed. “My brother called me that when we were kids.”

  “He has passed away, is that right?”

  Donna nodded with a doe-in-the-headlights look.

  “He was a big man,” Tara continued. “Did he ride motorcycles?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Harley-Davidsons,” Tara added. “In fact, Harley was your nickname for him. You rarely called him by his given name.”

  “Oh my goodness, yes! Did you tell her that, Shane?”

  Shane shook his head.

  “Your brother is telling me that he knows you visit his grave every month and loves you for it,” Tara said.

  Shane’s mother began tearing up.

  “Now,” said the motorcycle-riding ghost, “tell her to get the *bleep* off Shane’s back about the *bleep* *bleep* wedding,” the brother told Tara. “His pop has *bleep* rights too. Who the *bleep* does she think she is? Tell her that.”

  Tara took a moment. “He says...it’s with all of his love that he urges you to be as considerate as possible when offering opinions about your son’s wedding. Your brother understands the conflict and emotion you feel regarding your ex-husband, but hopes you can put that aside during this precious time. For Shane and Amy’s sake.”

  Her forehead wrinkled. “He said all of that? In those words?”

  “I toned down the language.”

  “That makes more sense,” Donna sniffed. “Tell him I love him, and I miss him.”

  “He knows,” Tara said.

  Tara shifted her attention to Dory and told her that her best friend from high school was present. A girl named Mary. Dory frowned and crossed her arms. When the conversation got going, it seemed the timid little spirit wasn’t so timid after all. She’d been following Dory all of these years waiting for a chance to tell her that she knew Dory had slept with her boyfriend after the homecoming game their senior year.

  “I’m sorry,” Tara told Mary, “but I don’t share negative sentiments. Do you have a positive thought you’d like to share?”

  “I’m positive that I’d like to see her rot in hell,” Mary said.

  Ron’s face flamed and he jumped to his feet. “Yo
u can’t talk to my wife like that!” he said to the vindictive ghost.

  “Oh, right, the cowardly husband,” Mary sneered.

  “Ronald,” Dory said, obviously befuddled by his remark, “you’re talking to the wall.”

  “No I’m not, my dear,” he said spinning around. “I’m talking to Mary. She’s saying some very unkind things about you.”

  “Okay,” Tara said, trying to gain control, “this isn’t positive.”

  “Talking to Mary?” Dory parroted him.

  “Yes, Dory, it’s time you knew the truth. I see dead people.”

  Dory huffed. “That is the silliest thing I’ve ever heard you say. I knew we shouldn’t have watched that Sixth Sense movie.”

  “Ask her about Colin Firth,” Mary told Ron.

  “Colin Firth?” he asked, obviously not understanding.

  Dory’s eyes bugged out of their sockets, and her face went white.

  Mary nodded. “Colin Firth. She’s madly in love with him and it goes beyond being a simple fan. She knits him scarves and sweaters, and when you’re not around she watches Pride and Prejudice over and over and over again.”

  Ron’s shoulders slumped. “You knit him scarves and sweaters?” he asked Dory. “You never knit me anything.”

  “I...I...don’t understand,” Dory sputtered.

  “I told you, I see ghosts and I’m talking to Mary and she’s telling me that you stalk Colin Firth.”

  “I do not stalk him! He lives in England!” Dory shouted. “He’s a brilliant actor, and I admire his talent, that’s all. Tell her to mind her own business.”

  Tara interceded. “Yes, Mary should mind her own business.” She glared at Mary, who faded from the room with a smile still on her face.

  “On the other hand,” Tara added, “I think Ron has made some nice progress here tonight. It’s often difficult to tell a skeptical loved one about a psychic gift. Perhaps the two of you might want to have this discussion in another room?”