by Kitty Margo
I wished I had the answers she needed. “Do you have any enemies?”
She shook her head. “None that I know of.”
It goes without saying that someone wasn’t feeling any love for her the night she was murdered so violently. “Have you pissed anybody off lately?”
She tapped her forehead trying to think. “If I did, I didn’t realize it.”
“Who was the last person you had an altercation with?”
She didn’t have to think about the answer to this question. “Um… a boy who tried to look up my skirt on the monkey bars in middle school. I made him eat dirt for five full minutes?”
“How old are you?” It was a random question, I know, but I was curious.
“26.”
“Can you remember anything else about that night?”
“I really don’t have any memories, other than what I just told you, before I woke up in a metal box inside of a refrigerator.”
How terrifying that must have been.
“I lay there for the longest time trying to figure out how to get out of that box. Then a man dressed in blue came and pulled open the little door and then pulled the metal plate that I was lying on out of the fridge. I had no idea then that I could easily pass through walls. It never crossed my mind that I was dead.”
“Then what happened?”
“I just sat up and walked out and nobody tried to stop me. He couldn’t see me. As a matter of fact you are the only person who has been able to see me, and I still can’t figure that out.”
“I can’t either.” Man, I wish I could. “I have seen my dead husband a few times, but he was never able to talk to me. Then I saw my classmate and he could, so you can’t imagine how confused I am.”
She floated over until she was eye level with me and placed her hand on mine. It felt like a slab of ice. “I have a confession to make, Maggie.”
“What is it?”
“I saw your husband that night at Psychic Lucinda’s. He was trying to get to you, but I selfishly pushed him out of the way and closed the portal behind me.”
“Why did you do that?” I cried, contemplating chewing her butt out for being so rude to my Earl.
“I was trying to find somebody, anybody to explain what was happening to me? I had just died, but I didn’t realize yet that I was dead.”
I felt a wave of sympathy for her. “I’m sorry this happened to you, Natalie.”
“Me too.” She levitated to the door and looked out at the passengers milling at the rails. “You know, you don’t need to be so rough on Barbara Jean.”
“Me rough on her!” After all that had transpired between me and that reject from a mental ward, Natalie had come to the erroneous conclusion that I was too rough on her? “Are you kidding me?”
“Barbara Jean has lived a miserable life, Maggie. Her husband was very wealthy and she never wanted for material things. Yet, what she did long for in her marriage was love, and children. She was never able to conceive.”
I refused to feel sorry for Barbara Jean.
“Her dearly beloved had at least three mistresses while he was wed to her. Two of these affairs produced illegitimate children that Barbara Jean knew nothing about until after her husband’s death. Now, these children are grown and waiting none too patiently for her to die so they can inherit her fortune.
What? “Her fortune?”
“Yes. Barbara Jean is worth millions.”
“Millions?”
No sooner had the word left my lips than Irene strolled into the library followed closely by Barbara Jean. When did they become bosom buddies? Irene, who works her ass off for a living, smiled sweetly at Barbara Jean for the first time ever and asked, “Do you by any chance need a caregiver?”
“Do I look like a damn invalid to you?” Barbara Jean snapped.
Well, that answered that question.
“I just thought I would ask for… future references. I mean, I would be more like a companion than an actual caregiver,” Irene continued, undaunted. “You know, you would have someone with you in the event you ever needed… help, like a human life alert necklace.”
“A what?”
“You know one of those help me I’ve fallen and I can’t get up necklaces.”
“Oh, that. I won’t ever be wearing one of those fashion accessories.” Barbara Jean pursed her lips with distaste and eyed Irene curiously. “What could you do for me that I can’t do for myself?”
“Not that you couldn’t very well do it for yourself, but I could keep your appointments straight, shop for you, pick up your medicines and such.”
“I don’t take any medicine.”
Irene couldn’t hide her surprise. “None?”
“Nope, none,” Barbara Jean announced proudly.
“Wow. You are at least twenty years older than me, and don’t take a single pill? Why, I take a handful every morning!”
“Well then, it’s obvious that you aren’t living right.” Barbara Jean looked her up and down and smirked. “Perhaps you need a caregiver.”
Chapter Eighteen
Maggie
That night after dinner we went to a karaoke bar where Barbara Jean got slightly intoxicated while listening to a man crooning Frank Sinatra songs. Oh, Lord, there are two types of drunks. Crying drunks and fighting drunks. Wouldn’t you know she started bawling her eyes out?
We were all shocked clear down to our toes when she commenced to telling us that she didn’t have a true friend in the world. “Nobody cares if I live or die, except my late husband’s children and they are counting the days until my toes turn up for good and they can get their greedy little hands on my inheritance.”
Meanwhile, Natalie was sitting on top of the piano gazing at Barbara Jean with teary eyes and her bottom lip quivering. Everyone stared, yet nobody mentioned the ice cold puddle of water forming on the piano and slowly dripping over the side. They just kept glancing toward the ceiling looking for a water leak.
When Frank wannabe finished singing, he noticed Barbara Jean’s distress and came to sit beside her. Never have I seen a woman dry her eyes and turn on the charm quicker than she did. Within minutes they were deep in conversation and he was buying her drinks that she certainly didn’t need. She glanced over and grinned at me like a mule eating briars.
Lord help poor Frank. He had no idea what he was setting himself up for.
Thank God, Natalie had quit crying and the ice water trickle had slowed to a steady drip. She was now hovering about a foot over the piano and watching with great longing as a couple in the corner tried to swallow each other’s tongue.
Before you could blink an eye, Frank, whose real name was Herman, had asked Barbara Jean to go for a walk on deck. She left holding his hand with a skip in her step and a bright smile flittering across her lips.
We were trying to decide what to do next when the cruise director came on the overhead speaker and announced the last call for bingo in one of the lounges.
Irene grabbed my arm. “Hey, did you hear that? Let’s go play bingo.”
Surely she couldn’t be serious. Wasn’t that for old people? “How much does it cost?”
“I don’t know.” She winked and shrugged her shoulders. BTW, whenever Irene winks it is meant to soften the insult that is about to follow. “Probably a couple dollars, but quit being such a tightwad with all that insurance money Earl left you. We’re on vacation. Live a little!”
Told you. We made our way through the crowd and found two seats front and center. A cute little thing with a foreign accent came around carrying a huge bag of bingo paraphernalia on her shoulders. “Have you played bingo with us before?”
“No,” Irene replied. “This is our first cruise.”
“Welcome, ladies. We are so glad you decided to join us. I’m sure this will be the start of many memorable cruises to come.” She was just so… bubbly. “We play a total of four games. Prices are $10.00 for our big package, $20.00 for our bigger package, and $30.00 for our biggest. Wh
ich one would you like?”
As I was trying to decide, I heard some irritable old geezer from the balcony shout, “Hurry up! We are ready to play bingo.”
Wow! Chill out, gramps! Bingo players mean business.
“I will take the $10.00 package,” I said. I wasn’t about to waste more money than that on a bingo card when I had never won anything in my life.
“I’ll take the biggest package,” Irene chirped. Naturally.
“You will also need a dabber,” the cute little girl was happy to remind us. “They are $1.00 each. Would you like red, blue, or green?”
“A what?” I asked.
She held out a little bottle of ink. “To dab your card with.” I chose blue. Then she swiped our key cards in a machine on her hip and was gone.
Heavenly days! I only had three cards to worry with, while poor Irene had a total of nine. There is no way I could keep up with nine cards. It didn’t take me more than two seconds to discover that three was going to present somewhat of a challenge.
Mercy me. When did bingo become so complicated? The last time I played the game, which I will admit was several decades ago, you only had to look for a horizontal, vertical, or diagonal line.
Now they wanted a Letter T, Number 7, or Big X. My brain was fried by the time they got to the last game and it was a freaking Postage Stamp. I mean, can we not just play regular bingo here?
Still, I was a little concerned. Could this postage stamp be anywhere on the page, or did it have to be in the center like the one shown on the big screen? I wanted to ask Irene, but her hands were flying over her cards trying to keep up and I knew she wouldn’t take too kindly to any interruptions on my part.
So I was flapping around like a chicken with his head cut off trying to dab all those numbers, knowing I wouldn’t recognize it even if I had a postage stamp on my card, when Irene suddenly jumped to her feet and shouted, “Bingo?”
What? “Irene, are you sure?” I whispered pulling on her shirttail to get her attention. “Let me see.” It was going to be so humiliating for the girl if she had made a mistake and didn’t really have it.
I sat back nervously, praying that she hadn’t gotten excited trying to keep up with all those cards and went on some random dabbing spree.
The cute girl hurried over and took Irene’s card. I held my breath as she looked up toward the front and called out a row of numbers.
“That’s a good bingo,” the announcer said into his microphone. “This lucky young lady is the winner of a free 7 day cruise.”
What?
Irene fell back in her seat, stunned. The girl handed her a paper to sign. “The details of your free cruise will be delivered to your cabin in the next few days but, FYI, it’s a free 7 day cruise for 2 to any destination our cruise line sails to.”
Irene just looked at me, grinning like a possum. “Can you believe it? Do you really think they will give me a free cruise?”
“Of course they will, honey. Besides they have no choice.” I waved my hands, motioning around the room with my best Vanna White impression. “Look around at all these witnesses.”
“True,” she said, still in shock. “Wow, this is amazing. I have always been lucky at bingo, but I’ve never won a prize like this.”
I stood, gathering up all my useless cards and wadding them into a ball. “Today was your lucky day.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “It was. So, do you want us to take back to back cruises, or wait a while?”
I reached over and gave her a big old hug. She hadn’t even considered taking anyone else but me with her. “Let’s wait until fall. I’ve always heard that’s the best time to take a cruise, when the kids are back in school.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Several people congratulated Irene, but more cut their eyes toward her giving off resentful looks. Sore losers.
As you can imagine, Irene and I left the lounge on cloud nine already planning our next cruise. The way our luck was running we might just as well head to the casino and drop a few coins in the one armed bandit. I wanted to try out the new penny slot machines, but we were sidetracked by an Asian band singing country and western songs on a stage across from the casino.
Thankfully we were able to find an available window seat. Pretty soon I was tapping my toes and the music was getting pretty lively when I glanced over to see Irene’s head propped on her hand. Poor thing was fast asleep. This made me realize how tired I was.
I shook her gently on the shoulder. “Irene, honey, wake up. Let me take you back to the cabin, then I’m going to the smoking section before I turn in. You meet the most interesting people up there.”
Natalie smiled brightly. “I’ll go with you.”
I had no doubt that she would.
Chapter Nineteen
Maggie
Our first sea day dawned bright and sunny and the water had turned from green to a brilliant sparkling blue. I stood on the balcony inhaling the salty sea air and enjoying my first coffee of the day. I could get used to this whole room service deal. They bring the coffee right to your door.
I was watching a playful dolphin swimming alongside the ship, when I suddenly felt a frigid breeze ruffle my nightgown. Lord help me, I can’t even enjoy a cup of coffee in peace. But there was no need to antagonize her first thing in the morning. “Did you sleep well last night, Natalie?” I asked sweetly. Unfortunately, the pistons in my brain don’t start firing until after my first cup of coffee.
She put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. “Ghosts don’t sleep.”
“Oh, I forgot,” I apologized.
“I came to tell you that I remembered something early this morning while I was watching a kitchen worker cut up watermelon and cantaloupe for breakfast. Man, it looked good. Why can’t ghosts eat anyway?”
I hope she really didn’t expect a scientific answer to her question.
“Anyway, I thought the fruits and vegetables would come already sliced and diced in huge tubs, but they don’t.”
“What did you remember, Natalie?” I asked, trying to keep her runaway mind on track.
“To set the scene, Blakely Owens’, the now deceased owner of Pine View Chemicals, daughter Belinda and I have always been best friends. She is like the sister I never had.”
“I know.” I nodded, thinking back on the many times I had passed them in Bojangles when I was getting my unsweetened tea with extra lemon fix. “The folks who didn’t know you girls assumed you were sisters since you were always joined at the hip whenever you were spotted gallivanting about town.”
“Since kindergarten, come Friday evening, one of us packed a bag and went to spend the night at the other’s house for the weekend. We knew everything there was to know about each other, and our families.”
I could sniff out a juicy story from a mile away. “Such as?”
“I know that her sweet mom suffers from a horribly addicting shopping habit,” she whispered as though someone might overhear her speaking ill of her best friends mother. “What is that sickness called?”
“Compulsive Shopping Disorder?”
“Yes, that’s it.” She dropped her eyes and shook her head. “At first it embarrassed Belinda so bad when her parents fought over money, but then we just got used to it and tuned it out.”
“Were the fights serious?” Miranda Owens, a compulsive shopper?
“Pretty serious. Once I heard her dad screaming that her mom had spent $20,000.00 in one weekend.”
Seriously? “On what?”
“Who knows? Just more stuff to pile in the basement. Belinda took me down there one time and, honestly, there was only one little path to walk through. The rest was wall to wall purchases of electronics, exercise equipment still in boxes, clothes, shoes, furniture, kitchen appliances, lamps, gas grills, whatnots, bicycles, a motorcycle. You name it and it was in their basement. To tell you the truth, I can’t really describe it all. You would have to see it to believe it.”
Man, I would love to go t
o that garage sale. “Did Blakely know it was there?”
“Yeah, he knew. He pretty much just allowed her to charge what she wanted to until she started buying high dollar items, like boats, cars, and lakefront property. Those are hard to hide.”
“I can imagine so.”
“In other words, Mr. Owens put his foot down when her spending habits began affecting the bottom line. I heard him shout more than once that she was going to bankrupt them and send them to the poorhouse.”
“Wow. I still find it hard to believe that Miranda Owens, one of the richest women in the state, has a shopping problem. I remember sitting beside her in Science class and she was always so well put together and organized. Who would have thought she had obsessive tendencies?”
“I really believe it’s a sickness that she has no control over. When Mr. Owens cut up his wife’s credit cards and refused to give her any more cash, she began pawning her diamond rings, necklaces, and tiaras and replacing them with cubic zirconium.”
“Miranda Owens wearing cubic zirconium?” I gasped. “I am speechless.”
“I know, right. I think that was the final straw for Mr. Owens. Shit hit the fan that night.”
“That poor man. To have it all. Ready to retire and enjoy your golden years on your private yacht and then your wife has to go and pull a stunt like this.”
“It is a sad, sad situation for sure, Maggie. But what worries me is that when I had lunch with Belinda a few weeks ago, she told me the fights had escalated to the point that her dad had been sleeping at his office. In fact, two days before the plant blew up, she heard her mother scream at her father, ‘I hope you get attacked by a swarm of killer bees on your way out the door. Just leave me your gold card!’”
“Whooeee! That’s cold,” I mumbled, glancing toward the window for any sign of stinging insects. “It’s also a red flag if I ever saw one.”
Natalie dropped her head in her hands. “Poor Belinda, the last time I talked to her she was worried sick that perhaps her mom had hired someone to blow up the chemical plant with her dad in it.”