Bedpans, Teapots and Corpses (A Maggie and Irene Cozy Mystery Book 1)

by Kitty Margo

  We all looked toward the wooded lot across from the restaurant when an eerie whistling sound echoed through the still trees. Half of the bus passengers had already entered, yet when I touched the door handle every light in the restaurant inside and out blinked off.

  Of course bitch lady was behind me and witnessed everything. “She’s a witch! I knew it! Throw her ass off the bus!”

  Where did she get that nonsense from?

  Thankfully, everyone ignored her rantings and ravings. They just figured she was a few gummy bears shy of a full bag since she had already accused me of trying to murder her with a cupcake.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Irene

  There were six ships in the Miami Port and ours was huge, seeming to reach into the sky. It had a tall water slide sticking out on top, which I had no doubt that Maggie would insist on sliding her happy ass down just as soon as she could wiggle into a bathing suit.

  Yet another of our vast differences.

  Maggie is the adventurous sort, while I could spend the remainder of my life without participating in a single outdoor activity and be quite content. Give me an air conditioned room and a good book and you won’t hear nary a peep out of me. Nowadays, I even refuse to go outside and hang my bed sheets on the clothesline like I had done in the past so they would have that fresh breeze scent when I put them on the bed. Now, I just toss them in the dryer with one of those outdoorsy scented dryer sheets and be done with it.

  Let me be honest, I hate bugs and I positively loathe sweat. The way I see it, since I already have hot flashes like a mad dog each and every day, why stand in the blazing sunlight and give my raging hormones something else to use against me? Plus, I now have a standing appointment with my dermatologist every six months for a complete body scan to have moles and warty looking things frozen, or cut off, that were caused from my years of being a sun worshiper.

  We made it through customs without incident, passed through a body scanner that beeped like crazy for some reason when Maggie went through it the first two out of three times, and signed a paper stating that we hadn’t been out of the country in the last few weeks, or been in contact with anyone with Ebola. Like anybody standing in that line was ever going to admit that they had been in contact with someone infected with Ebola and forfeit a fun filled week in the Caribbean.

  Next, we stood in line holding two cases of water until I thought my arms would absolutely fall off at the shoulders. Maggie had insisted we each bring a case and me, like a fool, had gone along with her ridiculous idea.

  “I heard that a large bottle of water is $7.00 a bottle on the ship,” she had insisted in her miserly way. That woman can squeeze a penny until Lincoln hollers ‘uncle’. “I refuse to pay that when we can each buy a case of 24 bottles for $2.99 at the dollar store.”

  Personally, I would have much rather bought a bottle of water a day for all eight days of the cruise for $56.00, than lug a case of water through that line for a mere savings of $53.00. You better believe that I complained every step of the way too. I wanted her to know what a stupid idea it had been.

  Then we waited in yet another line. Forever. Finally it was our turn at the check in desk. Of course, Maggie refused to give them her credit card and insisted we pay cash. “You never know who these foreigners will sell my card number to. Why, I heard on the news that U.S. credit card numbers are worth a fortune.”

  Then we had our picture made as a group with me standing amongst all that purple and red wearing my white capris and pink tank top.

  Finally, we climbed three flights of a gangway ramp, lugging a case of water, with me cussing Maggie with every breath. Half way up the ramp, near death, I sat my case down against the glass window out of the way of other passengers with the intention of leaving it right there. “I can’t carry it another step,” I wheezed, gasping for breath.

  “Come on, Irene.” Maggie chirped gaily, admiring the other passengers and practically drooling over their name brand suitcases. I considered my no name luggage to be more than sufficient, thank you.

  You see, Maggie works out in her flowerbeds, and goes to the park and marches around the track like her ass is on fire while carrying 15 pound hand weights, and she always insists on eating healthy fruits and vegetables. Yet, keep in mind that she smokes like a chimney. I vowed then and there to follow her regiment the minute we got home, but not on this cruise. This was my vacation. Cruise ships are touted for their excellent food, and I intend to pig the hell out.

  The ship was nothing like what I had expected. The door we entered faced a huge marble staircase over a round bar that was four deep in thirsty cruisers all raising their hands and trying to gain the bartenders attention. At that moment, I could have guzzled 4 margaritas without drawing a breath, but I was not about to fight that crowd while getting shoved hither and yon in the process.

  Spotting Guest Services, Maggie grinned from ear to ear as though she had spotted the X on a treasure map. “That’s where we go to have a hole punched in our key cards. Then we can wear them from a lanyard around out necks. Several Red Hat frequent cruisers told me to do that.” Then she turned to me with a worried frown as though she were facing a life or death situation and gasped. “You did remember to bring your lanyard didn’t you?”

  I should have said no, just to watch her have a real conniption tizzy on the spot. “Yes,” I replied with sweat dripping from every pore of my body.

  “Good, come on.” So we went traipsing along to stand in yet another line.

  With that necessity out of the way, and our niffy lanyards keeping our key cards close to our hearts, we followed the crowd up to the Lido deck for lunch.

  Calypso music was blasting, the sun was blazing, everybody had a colorful drink in their hand, and we saw bodies of every size, shape, and nationality splayed out on deck chairs. And I do mean splayed. Have you noticed that girls are wearing these skimpy bathing suits now where the bottom half stops about middle ways of their butt cheek?

  When I first saw this, I thought the poor girl had purchased a bathing suit that was several sizes too small and actually felt sorry for her. Then I noticed a pattern. All the young girls were wearing them. A few still wore thongs though and, I am here to tell you, looking at them just makes me cringe. No way could I prance around with something wedged in my butt crack all day, and I won’t even go into the sanitary aspects of such foolishness.

  Leaving the outside to go back inside, we went through automatic doors and then through a blast of air that parted my hair on the opposite side from what it had been previously. But, let me tell you something, honey. I have never seen so much food in my life. There were several different bars with everything from country cooking with fried chicken and veggies, to Italian cuisine, burgers and fries, deli sandwiches, a salad bar to die for, stir fry with noodles - featuring your choice of shrimp, steak or chicken - , pizza, and a couple of desert bars. Lord, help me! I had died and gone to food heaven.

  Maggie chose a burger and fries, while I went for the salad bar. My love for cruise ships had begun.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Maggie

  Finally we made it to our room. Unfortunately, we had already been told when we signed on that we would be sharing our cabin with a third person. Maggie and I exchanged stricken looks, knowing full well that our roommate was already present and accounted for since her luggage was scattered from one end of the room to the other. One nauseating whiff confirmed exactly where she was.

  “She must be a fan of Mexican food,” Maggie mumbled, grabbing a big blue beach towel to hold over her nose.

  Maggie has a terribly weak stomach and, on cue, she commenced to gagging. “It smells like something crawled up her ass and died three weeks ago and is just now coming out.”

  I had to admit the smell was pretty potent and even my stomach was starting to churn and push bile up around my tonsils.

  After several more attempts at gagging, Maggie raced to the trashcan and coughed up a wad of… something. �
��There is no way I can stay eight days in this cabin if that woman’s bowels are going to explode every morning and fog up the room like this. I can’t take that smell,” she insisted. “You know I can’t take that smell, Irene.”

  At that moment, the bathroom door swung open and to our immense mortification out steps the bitchy choking lady. I had been about to locate our room steward and demand that our room be fumigated, when she looked at Maggie with her lips contorted into a snarl and spat, “What are you doing in my room?”

  “I could ask you the same question.” Maggie’s eyes were still watering and she was swallowing convulsively, trying to keep the remaining contents of her stomach from revolting. “I’ll call Lisa and find out what room you are supposed to be in? This isn’t your room.”

  “It very well is my room. Why, I imagine I can read the room number outside of a cabin door every bit as good as you can,” she snapped. “This is Empress Deck room 229, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I looked at Maggie with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Please, Lord, let there be a mistake.

  “Then this is my room and you need to leave,” she bellowed. “And leave now.”

  “Now you wait just a cotton picking minute.” It was apparent that Maggie was on the verge of letting the old bag have it with both barrels. “I am going to call Lisa right now and get this straightened out, and then I’m going to the smoking section to have a cigarette and smell something besides your decaying innards for a few minutes.” She arched an eyebrow and growled, “Your bowels had to be backed up for a least a month, you old goat. Why didn’t you have the decency to chew an Ex-Lax or something and not wait until you boarded a cruise ship and settled into a room with two other passenger to unload?” Maggie reached for the phone but suddenly she stopped, vigorously rubbing her arms and shivering. “Can we turn down the air conditioner in this room? It’s colder than a well diggers ass in here.”

  Was she crazy? Me and the choking bitch looked at each other and almost bonded for a moment. I had been looking around for a vent to open in hopes of cooling the room down, and Maggie was cold? That was odd. She’s like me with the hot flashes. The girl never gets cold, but she was surely shivering in her ugly red shoes now.

  I cocked my head to the side and watched her for a few minutes, and if I didn’t know better I would swear she was talking to someone on the ceiling beside the balcony door. Lord help me, surely the headless ghost didn’t follow us on the ship?

  “Who invited you?” Maggie snapped at the wall.

  “I invited myself,” bitch lady snapped right back.

  Maggie was still looking at what I assumed was the ghost. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

  “I have every right to come here and why don’t you face me when you talk to me instead of talking to the curtain rod?” bitch lady barked. Then she turned to me with all seriousness and asked, “Is she crazy?”

  This brought Maggie spinning around to face us. “I was talking to myself if that is quite alright with you.”

  “Hey, it’s your hallucination.” Bitch lady chuckled. “Invite whomever you please.”

  Maggie told me later that Natalie had crossed her arms over her chest, annoyed by the constant interruptions, and glancing at bitch lady said, “I can take her to the balcony and find some way to shove her over the rail if you want me to.”

  “You need to wait until we get out to sea.” Maggie had cut her eyes at bitch lady and replied, “She would just swim to shore and come back onboard.”

  “What were you talking to yourself about that time?” bitch lady asked, so mad she stamped her foot. “Me, I presume?”

  I dug Lisa’s card out of my purse, called her, and politely asked her to come to our room immediately. When she arrived Maggie and I pointed and asked, “What is she doing in our room?”

  Lisa was white as a sheet and trembling in her shoes when she replied, “The cabin arrangements were made weeks ago. Unfortunately the ship is full and there is no way to change them.” Leaning over, she whispered in my ear, “Maybe she will grow on you.”

  “Like a fungus,” I mumbled.

  “I’m so sorry, but I’m afraid you are stuck with Barbara Jean for the duration of the cruise.”

  Barbara Jean? I even hated her name.

  Evidently the ghost repeated the same words to Maggie, because her head spun around on her shoulders in a classic Linda Blair move and she stormed, “Oh, hell no!”

  Barbara Jean opened the door, spluttering that she was not staying in the same room with some damn fool who talked to the wall. “One of us has to go!” she screeched.

  Maggie looked at her without batting an eye and simpered sweetly, “Goodbye.”

  When she said this, Barbara Jean stubbornly marched back into the room and plopped down on the bed refusing to budge.

  Maggie threw up her hands and grabbed her cigarettes, cutting her eyes at Barbara Jean. “I’m going to the bar and get a strong drink, Irene. I have to reach a certain level of intoxication before I can deal with her bullshit. Do you want to come with me or stay and find some way to get this cretin out of our room?”

  I could tell Maggie was inching ever closer to her breaking point, so I stayed behind in hopes of getting the occupants of our room switched. However, from the look of sheer terror in Lisa’s eyes, I didn’t see it happening anytime soon.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Maggie

  Trying to blow off a little steam, make that enough to power every paddleboat on the Mississippi, I meandered around the ship from one deck to the other and saw nightclubs, dining rooms, shops, cigar bars, lounges, piano bars and lots and lots of photos stuck in wall slots. I wasn’t in the mood to look for our photo at the moment.

  Spying a library, I went inside for a brief respite and searched through a rather poor selection of books. I had picked one up and was reading the back cover when I felt a chill in the air and noticed the windows fogging over. Crap! Natalie had followed me with the sole intention of interrupting my reading pleasure. Was it too much to ask for fifteen minutes of alone time?

  “Why are you following me around?” I snapped, intending to send her on her merry way. “Go haunt someone else for a change.” Yet, I could tell by the way she completely disregarded my platitude and continued to hover above me that the idea didn’t sit too well with her.

  “I can’t,” she stated, lying on her back to peer up at the ceiling. “You are the only person who can see me, remember? Well, you and my dog Hudson.”

  Why would her dog be able to see her too? Never mind, I have heard that dogs have a sixth sense and can often detect the presence of spirits. “What kind of dog is Hudson?”

  “He is our 120 pound black lab. Another rescue dog.” Turning sideways to look down at me, she exhaled an icy breath and I swear my lips were frozen numb. “I’m going to miss taking him for walks.”

  It was glaringly apparent that she had no intention of leaving anytime soon, so I decided to settle in and make good use of my time alone with her. What choice did I have? “Tell me about you, Natalie.”

  Rolling over to float on her side, she peered at me quizzically, as if she were shocked that I would ask her a personal question. As if anyone actually cared now that she was no longer among the living. It was obvious that this was the last conversation she ever expected to have. “I guess if you are going to help find out who killed me, I’ll have to talk about it, won’t I?”

  “Yes, Natalie. I’m afraid you will.” Finally. Maybe she was about to open up about the night she was murdered. “I’m sure it will be hard for you, but you really must try to remember as much as you can about your... accident.”

  She sat up so suddenly the top of her head disappeared into the ceiling. “Do you think it was an accident?”

  “I’m not sure.” Although I found it difficult to believe that someone could have accidentally removed the girl’s head. “Just tell me what you remember.”

  “Some things have been coming back to me in t
he last few days.” She floated down and hovered over the seat beside me. “I can remember going out to dinner that night.”

  “With who?”

  “Honestly, I can remember sitting across from him and drinking a margarita, but I can’t place his face or his name. Isn’t that strange?”

  “Not really, after all you have been through.” I decided to just throw it out there and see if it jogged any memories. “Your body was found in a shallow grave in the woods behind my house.”

  She bristled with outrage. “You mean that asshole killed me and just dumped my body in a shallow grave?”

  “What asshole? Your date?”

  She threw both hands in the air. “Who else could it have been?”

  “Well, I’m not sure, but whoever did it cut off your head as well as your fingers.” Wow. That had to be a bitter pill to swallow. Perhaps I should have used a bit more tact when detailing her injuries. “But we certainly have no proof that it was your date who did this to you. So let’s not jump to any conclusions just yet.”

  “Bloody hell,” she whispered, burying her face in her hands. “Why would anyone do that?”

  “My first guess would be so that the authorities could not identify your body. I read something similar to this in a Patricia Cornwell novel years ago.”

  “So, if my body can’t be identified, then my parents don’t know I’m dead. They only think I’m missing. When my mother finds out the truth, she won’t be able to handle it.”

  “She won’t be alone,” I said, attempting to reassure her. “Your father will be there to help her through it.”

  “He’s as distraught as she is.” Natalie covered her face with her hands and floated around the room. “I sit with them every night and watch them cry. It breaks my heart.” The poor ghost dropped her hands and sobbed pitifully. “Why did this have to happen to me?”