Accidentally Dead, Again

by Dakota Cassidy

  Phoebe had expected upon meeting and introducing herself to Nina that there would be some anger and resentment involved. Who wouldn’t be angry to find they weren’t the only apple of their beloved father’s eye? Before her death, her mother had forewarned her about Nina’s temper and infamous mouth. According to her mother, their father, Joe, had fretted over Nina often just before he’d died. So she’d been mentally prepared for some irate swearing.

  However, she certainly hadn’t anticipated that anger would involve intimidation and flying fists. Without a doubt, she hadn’t planned their conversation to end up with her ass in some stray drag queen’s mouth.

  But there it was. So there was only one thing to do and that was onward and upward. She’d asked Nina for some privacy in order to reveal her secret. The last thing she’d wanted to do was blindside one of the only living relatives she had in the world—or worse, alienate her.

  Phoebe had definitive proof that Nina was her half sister. But she’d wanted to share that with her in a sensitive manner, not in some screaming match. Phoebe wasn’t so uncaring that she didn’t realize she’d also be met with a certain amount of disbelief and betrayal, and she’d prepared herself to deal with that, too.

  In fact, in the year she’d spent looking for Nina, she’d run a million scenarios of their eventual meeting over and over in her mind.

  But Nina’s refusal to at least grant her some alone time and her almost dare for Phoebe to spit out the reason for her appearance at OOPS had gotten the better of her.

  Sometimes you get what you wish for.

  In most cases, Phoebe had learned to keep her temper and her competitive spirit in check. But a dare was a dare. And now she was here, wherever here was. She didn’t remember much other than the ground falling away from her and landing on Sam. She hated to admit it, but she must have hit her head and passed out after that.

  How weak she probably looked to these people. Weak was something a Reynolds just didn’t do well.

  “Phoebe?” Sam’s voice filtered through her reverie when he placed a cool hand on her arm. “How do you feel?”

  Feel? She felt like an utter moron. That’s how she felt. And her ass hurt as though a pin had punctured it. “I feel like an explanation is in order. Did I pass out when I fell, and where are we?” She craned her neck to take in the beauty of the enormous home she was in.

  Sam rolled his tongue in his cheek, a look of disbelief passing over his expression. “We’re at Nina’s castle, er, house … no, castle. Yes. It’s definitely a castle with a moat and everything. In Long Island.”

  Her head began to throb, and her lack of anything in the way of sustenance other than some fruit and cottage cheese for lunch hours ago left her with a gnawing hunger. “And we got here how?”

  Sam held up a finger with one red nail still precariously attached to it and paused as though to gather his words. When he finally spoke, it was low and husky. “Again, I’m still not sure I can properly articulate the form of transportation that brought us here. It’s mind-bending. Which leads me to believe these women have pegged my emotional state all wrong. I think I have more work to do on these stages of grief than they think, because I’m just one bullet shy from a loaded Glock.”

  Commotion from the area of the enormous fireplace thwarted further investigation, making Phoebe shush Sam with a finger to his mouth so she could eavesdrop.

  The woman who wore a pencil-slim skirt and a silk blouse like she was the Queen of England crossed her arms over her chest and addressed Nina. “So do you think this could be true, Nina? Is it possible that she’s your sister?”

  The blond Phoebe vaguely remembered complimenting her on her hair color gave Nina a squinty-eyed gaze. “Who, for the love of all things chosen, would declare Nina, of all the sisters in the world to choose, hers if this woman wasn’t telling the truth, Wanda? I mean, honestly. Ask yourself, would you tell anyone—an-ee-one—Nina was blood unless she was someone famous like, I don’t know, Lady Gaga? Oprah, maybe? You know, someone who at least had some fame as a redeeming quality to make up for the fact that they’re the single most difficult person in the world to get along with? Why couldn’t you have at least given her a chance to explain so we knew her story before you snarled and raged, Nina? Because guess what, Houston, we have a problem. Twice the problem we had before you got involved, night dweller.”

  Nina flicked the woman’s hair with a long finger. “Blow me, Marty. I never touched her. She tripped.”

  “She tripped because you intimidated her with your boot camp Marine Corps tactics. Nice job, you reincarnated Neanderthal. You’ve so done it now,” Marty snipped, shaking a finger in her face, her band of bracelets clanging together. “If just once you’d not react like a raving lunatic, none of this would have happened. I can’t wait until you have to explain this to Greg.”

  Nina’s chin tilted in defiance, its sharp edge glinting in the orange-hued light coming from the flames dancing in the fireplace.

  She used her height to hover over the petite blonde much in the same way she had Phoebe. “Fuck you, Marty. You did hear what she said, didn’t you? She said she’s my fucking sister. That’s some serious shit. Shit I don’t need. I don’t have a sister. I have Lou. End of.”

  “And that meant you had to rush her like you were the shopper and she was the Filene’s Basement sale?” the chestnut-haired woman named Wanda asked, her lips thinning in disapproval. “Nina, your temper is foul. You know it. I know it. I’ve warned you time and again, and you’ve created more than one problem for yourself because you go from zero to a hundred and ten in a half second flat. But this? Oh, this is beautiful. Just so much fabulous. Now we don’t have just poor Sam to deal with, but this innocent woman, too? So what if she said she was your sister? Now, it doesn’t matter if she’s related to you or not because this is your fault and we absolutely must—nay, will—make this right. You can’t threaten to clock every crackpot simply because they’re a crackpot, Nina. Because guess what, vampire? It ends up like this!” Her hand made a sweeping gesture in Phoebe’s general direction. “And now you might not just have a sister, you might have a vampire sister!”

  Phoebe chose to dismiss the word vampire—a strange mystical word when attributed to Nina indeed—and she dismissed the fact that she was in a strange house with, for the most part, strangers.

  She also dismissed the notion that in getting from that dank basement office where she last remembered being to this incredibly tasteful great room with its crystal chandeliers, winding staircase, and big, overstuffed furniture, someone would have had to physically bring her here and she’d missed it all due to her unconscious state.

  Those were things to ponder for later.

  For now, Phoebe popped off the couch upon the use of the word crackpot with reference to her. She was on her feet, thwarted only by a slight dizzy spell that made her sway momentarily, fighting the strange croak in her voice and the thickness of her tongue in order to speak. But speak she did—even with Sam at her side attempting to prevent her from doing so. “I have proof Nina’s my sister, and I resent the word crackpot. I’m not a crackpot.”

  Three heads in varying degrees of color shot up, their eyes landing on Phoebe, who was running a hand over her wrinkled skirt. “Yeah?” Nina crowed, pushing the other two women away. “Well, I resent the word sister.”

  Phoebe’s eyebrow rose with a condescending tip upward. Boo-hoo. “Then isn’t that just too bad for you?”

  Nina growled. Growled.

  There was a grunt, which Phoebe determined was a warning from Sam the Drag Queen. He waved a limp hand at her and shook his head in the negative—with vigor. “Don’t do it,” he mouthed, his eyes wide and wary when he set her almost behind his big, sparkly body.

  Like a warning from some silly man in a dress and heels was going to keep her from defending an absolutely unwarranted label like crackpot.

  The hell.

  Nina parted the women with her hands and narrowed eyes before st
omping toward Phoebe in a clunk of worn work boots and heavy footsteps. God, how had she ended up with such an in-your-face fashion nightmare like Nina for a sister? “You wanna repeat that shit to my face?”

  She fought the urge to blink her eyes when she realized she could see every pore in Nina’s strangely pale face with the kind of clarity only the best cosmetic magnifying mirror allowed. Instead, she poked her head around Sam’s body and shot back, “Did I stutter?”

  There was a snort of muffled laughter and an exclamation of “Hoo-boy” that followed from behind Nina’s back before a hasty shuffle of feet as the other two women came to stand beside Nina, their stances indicating they were preparing to hold her back.

  “I don’t know about you, Marty, but I see a family resemblance right in the area of Phoebe’s big, antagonistic mouth. You?” Wanda asked over top of Nina’s head.

  “Yeah,” Marty agreed, thoughtful. “Definitely. That and her eyes. Same shape as our fair Nina’s, just a different color. Beautiful, don’t you agree, Wanda?”

  Nina’s lips smacked and her dark eyes narrowed. With clenched fists, she gave her friends the eye. “Quit sleeping with the enemy, you two. And as for you, buttercup, nope. You didn’t stutter, but you can bet your designer ass when I’m done breaking your Barbie jaw you’ll stutter. While you scoop your teeth off the floor, that is.”

  A spike of anger shot along Phoebe’s spine. Oh, really? She put her hands together and cracked her knuckles. It was always better to loosen up before an impending fistfight. Especially if another girl was involved. Their jaws were usually much less fleshy than a man’s and could possibly cause damage to the fine bones in her hand.

  Not a risk she was willing to take. Being a personal stylist new to the scene meant you carried a lot of bags to your clients.

  Knowing her next question would garner an unfavorable, possibly violent response from Nina, Phoebe didn’t think twice when she asked, “Are you threatening me, sister?”

  There was a glimmer of surprise in Nina’s eyes before she lunged at Phoebe with a snarling growl. A lunge not only did Sam react too late for but one Phoebe sidestepped much more quickly than she’d ever considered herself capable of. And in three-inch-heel boots, too.

  Looking down at Nina as she tripped and stumbled before righting herself, Phoebe thought, Ya still got it, Reynolds.

  “Nina!” the two women yelped, rushing Nina and latching on to her arms with white-knuckled grips while she all but foamed at the mouth.

  Phoebe sauntered toward her, ignoring the crazy buzz in her head and the painfully sharp noise the scrape of her boot heels to the floor made in her ears. And she ignored Sam, who clutched her arm and hissed in her ear, “Danger, Will Robinson, danger!”

  She rolled her head on her neck, placing her face inches from Nina’s. Their eyes met. Nina’s glazed with ire. Phoebe’s dripping with a challenge. “Wow. Are you ever a tight ass. You’ll take years off your life that way. Not to mention the wrinkles you’ll accumulate from frowning so much.”

  Marty’s nod was of vigorous agreement, the shimmery highlights of her blond hair glinting in the dimly lit room. “You know, Phoebe, I tell her that all the time. But does she listen? Noooo. She’s all venom and fury. I’m Marty Flaherty, in case you missed it the first time. We met earlier before you … well, before …” She smiled, then frowned when the elegantly dressed woman chastised her with just one searing glance.

  Between clenched teeth, the woman who wore a slim chocolate brown skirt and silk blouse said, “Marty? Shut it.” Yanking at Nina’s arm, she gave it a jerk. “Nina? Stand down or I’ll take you down. This is a new blouse and I won’t have it ruined because you behave like a two-year-old. I’m Wanda Jefferson, Phoebe. One of the easily riled Nina’s BFFs. And don’t look so shocked. I’d bet even Hannibal Lecter had a best friend. A vegetarian, no doubt.”

  Wanda gave Nina a hard shove toward a dining area where there were chairs around a long rectangular table. “Now, we’re all going to sit like ladies and gentleman and figure this out. This being the thing that wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t such a bully, Nina Blackman-Statleon.”

  Phoebe was taken aback by Nina’s last name. Statleon? “You’re married?” To what?

  Wanda clamped her hands on Phoebe’s shoulders with a solid grip and ushered her to a chair at the opposite end of the table from Nina. “She is. And when her husband Greg gets back from Boca and finds out what’s happened, hell will surely rain down upon us all. We were already skating on thin ice with our men and this OOPS thing. Your predicament will only make things worse.”

  Nina dropped her fist on the table, making the beautiful copper candelabra in the center shake. “The hell I’ll take the flack for this, Wanda. She started this bullshit when she declared herself kin. No kin of mine dresses like that,” she snapped with a wave at Phoebe’s white shawl, now askew on her shoulders.

  Phoebe slid into a chair and clucked her tongue, refusing to give in to the wobble of her knees and the almost desperate growling of her stomach. “No. I don’t suspect they would dress in anything other than pelts in Neanderthal-topia, would they?”

  Marty was up and holding Nina down before Phoebe’s brain could process her movement. She leaned over the back of the chair and whispered, “Stay loose, pal—or we’re going to have a head-to-head. I just had my hair done, and much like Wanda, I’m not up for wrecking a perfectly good hair day. Now down, Nina-nator.” She gave her a final pat on the shoulder, then turned to Sam and waved him over with a smile. “Sam? Join us, would you?”

  With a weak grunt, Sam kicked off his cracked high heels and went to a chair next to Phoebe’s, tugging hard at his dress so it would fall to the tops of his thighs.

  Phoebe couldn’t help but notice his stride was anything but feminine despite his dress and garish makeup. In fact, his build was downright manly. He was clearly still in the awkward, I-want-to-dress-like-a-woman-but-I-have-no-idea-how-not-to-let-my-knuckles-drag-on-the-floor phase of his cross-dressing.

  Wanda stood at the head of the table and clapped her hands. The sound pinged in Phoebe’s head, making her wince and run her fingers over her temple. Every sound and smell was so magnified it almost hurt.

  “People, we have a lot of ground to cover, and time is of the essence. We clearly have a situation. So, in the vein of waste not, want not, and in light of the fact that Phoebe’s proven to be quite the spitfire, I’m going to go with my gut and take it for granted that she’ll handle her current state with the same set of jingle bells she confronted Nina with.”

  Phoebe frowned. Hold the phone. What was her current state? And why did she need jingle bells to handle it? Oh, she had nads all right. Nads she wasn’t afraid to let drop from her frilly underclothes when the situation presented itself. But why would she need them other than to deal with her sister, who was quite obviously not taking the information that she had a sibling well? Phoebe shuddered at the very thought that she hadn’t even had time to tell Nina everything …

  As the fragmented pieces of not just her unfamiliar surroundings but the snippets of conversation she’d heard before she’d burst through OOPS’s door sank in, she began to experience a rise of slow panic. Though she wasn’t necessarily afraid of these women and the pretty boy, she wasn’t unafraid, either. Phoebe cast a dubious glance at Wanda and raised her hand.

  Wanda generously gave her the floor with the sweep of her hand.

  The fear her confusion stirred began to rear its ugly head, and it was an effort to keep a calm facade. “Can you explain the bit about my current state? I’m a little unclear about what that means. And for that matter, how did I get here, and what happened to me that I can’t remember leaving your offices?”

  Nina snorted from her end of the table and cracked her knuckles. “You got here because I flew you here.”

  Phoebe eyed Nina, making her irritation clear. “Aren’t you the Jeff Foxworthy of Unevolved Village?”

  A hand snaked around her neck and c
lamped over her mouth. Pulling her toward him, Sam whispered in her ear, sending an unexpected thrill of goose bumps over her skin. The hard shelter of his chest had certain rugged properties to it she found incredibly inviting. “For the last time, some advice. Shut your pretty mouth. I beg of you. Listen closely. Or you will pay. I have seen. This is your final courtesy warning.”

  Phoebe placed her hands on his forearm, a strong, muscled forearm indeed, and yanked with more force than she intended. “Put your hand on my mouth again, and we’ll see who pays, America’s Next Drag Queen. Now, where were we? Oh, right. I was waiting on the answer to why I’m here and how I got here. The real answer.” She shot a glare at Nina filled with irate disapproval.

  Nina leaned back in her chair and threw her feet up on the table with a bored look. “I say we just have at her, Wanda. You know, seeing as her love eggs are all scraping the ground.”

  Wanda sighed and paused as though she was taking care in her next words. And then she spoke, her gaze meeting Nina’s. “I don’t say it often, but I say you’re right. Let’s do this.”

  “Oh. Jesus,” Sam muttered, running a hand over his matted black hair.

  Wanda’s words sounded like a challenge. Never one to back down from a challenge, even when she didn’t exactly know what the challenge was, Phoebe threw down the gauntlet, ignoring Sam’s clear hesitations. “Fine. Let’s do this.”

  NOTE to self. From this day forward, be far more careful when hurling metaphoric gauntlets around so carelessly. Damn her and her competitive streak.

  Phoebe fought the urge to run screaming from Nina’s house, er, castle. Not that having the adjective of her location made what she’d just seen any easier to swallow.