by Lotta Smith
“The guys who put up this signboard did a really lousy job,” the guy said. “It’s been less than a year since they replaced it.”
“Still, it didn’t budge, much less fall when we had the winter storms.” The girl crossed her arms, tilting her head.
“What a coincidence,” I muttered.
“Assuming it was really a coincidence,” Rick interjected. “Anyway, be careful, Mandy. You can’t be too careful.”
I agreed and took a glance at Marion. She was standing there, looking bored. Alice’s violet eyes were directed at me, but I knew Marion wasn’t really looking at me as her icy blue eyes stared past me.
“Marion?” When Rick looked at the ghost occupying his mother’s body in a skeptic manner, her shoulders jerked.
“Yes?” she said.
“Is this the place where Mrs. Miller lives with Mr. Miller?” Rick asked.
“Well….” Marion squinted at the building. Then she gazed inside the gallery space from the outside of the glass walls. “I don’t think so. The place where Mrs. Miller lives sells paintings, but they don’t have a café.”
CHAPTER 7
After talking to the manager of the condos upstairs and double-checking that there was no one called Miller living in that place, we headed back outside.
“What’s the next one?” Rick said, looking at the map in my hand.
“How about this one on 3rd Avenue?”
“Fine. Let’s go.” He nodded.
“Okay.” Marion shrugged.
While we were heading for 3rd Avenue, Marion stopped abruptly.
“What? This building looks whitish, but the place doesn’t seem to be selling paintings,” Rick pointed out. We were standing in front of a cream-colored building selling designer eyeglasses.
“I smell something very… divine,” Marion said, taking in the air. A few yards ahead of us was a deli, and the aroma of hamburgers, fries, and a variety of fried and greased food reached where we were.
A chubby guy clad in jogger pants and a Motley Crue T-shirt ambled out of the store, holding a brown bag and munching on fries. As he came toward us, Marion openly stared at him.
Displaying a small smile, he said, “Hello.”
“Hello, sir.” Marion waved at him. “What did you purchase from here?”
“Come on, you want to stop pestering the gentleman here.” Rick attempted to stop her, but the ghost had an appetite, and she stared at the Motley Crue guy with intense eyes.
“I’ve got a chicken cutlet sub with barbecue sauce, and fries. Wanna try some?” He attempted to put his hand into the brown baggie, but Rick interjected.
“Sir, that’s not necessary. Sorry for bothering you,” he apologized. “She’s not really herself and has no idea what she’s doing right now.”
“No prob.” The jogger guy smiled. “Is she your mom?”
“I’m afraid so.” Rick nodded, frowning and looking like he was wishing to flee the scene at once, prompting me to smile.
The Motley Crue guy went on. “I knew it. The resemblance between the two of you is strong.” He chuckled, waved goodbye at Marion, and left, eating fries on his way.
“I want the same thing as this gentleman,” Marion insisted.
“In your dreams.” Rick snorted. “For your information, the woman whose body you’re hijacking right now happens to be a vegan, and she’ll hate it if you put greasy chicken in her stomach.”
“But I want to eat the chicken sub and fries.” Marion crossed her arms. “If you haven’t noticed, I’ve been gawking at people savoring delish-looking food for the past hundred-plus years. Do you know what it feels like trying to imagine the taste of food you can see but never get to enjoy it?”
“Perhaps Alice won’t notice that she ate chicken after all,” I interjected. “Marion, you said the person whose body you borrowed before didn’t remember what you did after you came out of her, right?”
“Right!” She nodded. Turning to Rick, she pleaded, “I understand you’re worried about your mom, but I promise she’ll never notice what she ate.”
“Fine.” He let out a deep sigh. “Don’t spill the barbecue sauce on her dress, okay?”
“Of course, I was trained never to spill anything while eating. Remember, I’m an aristocrat, and I happen to be a perfect lady!” Marion bounced like a little kid encased in a body of a woman in her late sixties giving her heart and soul to look like a thirty-year-old.
“Let’s drop by the deli,” I said. Actually, Marion wasn’t the only party tempted by the scent of barbecue chicken. Rick told me to double-check our next destination, so I was looking at the map while walking.
“Mandy, watch it! Don’t go any farther. Stop right now!”
When Rick shouted, I realized something was wrong—as in very wrong—mostly because the ground I was walking on suddenly disappeared under my left foot.
I looked down, and indeed, the ground had disappeared, as the manhole cover had been somehow removed. “Yow!” The moment I gasped, imagining the worst-case scenario of falling into the deep hole that must have reached to the core of the Earth, like Wile E. Coyote falling off the cliff, Rick caught me in the hips.
“That was close,” he muttered, pulling me up and away from the deep hole.
I should have expressed my thanks to him, but instead, I was mumbling, “What’s happened to the manhole cover?” No, mumbling was an understatement. I was almost shrieking.
“I told you to be careful!” he confronted me. “What were you thinking? You’re on the clumsy side, and trying to read the map while walking is the last thing you should do.”
“Hey, you told me to double-check our next destination. Remember?” I pointed out.
“What?” He looked at me, tilting his head to the side and squinting, as if he was trying to decipher what had been happening in my head. “I never said that to you. I swear.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, as in 100 percent sure.”
Then a young guy in khaki work clothes and a helmet emerged from the hole, almost banging his face on my legs. “What the hell?” he gasped. “What are you doing here?”
“She almost fell into the hole, no thanks to the construction sign over there,” Rick said, indicating a folded barricade thrown at the far edge of the sidewalk with the tip of his jaw.
“Damn,” the construction guy cursed. “Some damn kids probably thought it’d be fun to pull a prank. Those spoiled brats! I’ve been down for one minute, and they’ve managed to sabotage the site, risking your life and mine.” Grumbling about the idiot kids with too much entitlement, he came out of the hole to retrieve the construction sign.
“Could it be possible for kids to be pulling pranks in the Upper East Side at this time of day?” I whispered to Rick.
“Maybe, maybe not.” He shook his head. “Still, it’s the second time you were exposed to a life-threatening accident. You’ve got to watch your step.”
“Hmm… it’s so weird. I definitely heard you telling me to double-check the name of the building of the next destination.” I knitted my eyebrows in confusion.
“Who? Me?” Rick crossed his arms. “So again, something’s duped you into hearing something that’s never been said. Marion, where are you?” He called the name of the ghost, who was just coming out of the deli.
“I’m here.” She waved at us happily before grabbing her sandwich with both hands and biting it. As she ate, red barbecue sauce oozed out of the wrapper, down her—or rather, Alice’s—chin, leaving huge stains on her white-based dress.
“Shit!” Rick flinched.
“Ma’am!” A big guy sporting a deli apron hurried out of the shop.
“Oh, she left without paying, I presume.” Rick approached the big guy. “Sorry about that,” he said, offering to pay for the food.
“No. That’s not necessary.” The big guy shook his head. “Actually, she left five twenties, telling us to keep the change. So I’m here to offer her something to drink. What would you like to drink, love
ly lady?” he asked, handing Marion some napkins.
“May I have Coke?” Marion said, grinning widely and wiping the barbecue sauce off her chin with the napkins.
Rick massaged his temple.
“Sure thing. I’ll be right back.” The big guy grinned widely and turned to us. “Would you guys like something to eat or drink?”
“Actually, I could use a barbecue chick… mmm…” I started to say, but I didn’t get to finish the sentence as Rick covered my mouth with his hand.
“Thanks for the offer, but no thanks,” he said.
“Okay, so just a Coke.” The big guy disappeared into the deli.
“Hey, why did you interfere while I was placing an order? I can’t believe that!” I protested, slapping his arm. “I could really use a barbecue chicken sandwich.”
“Oh yeah? I could really use a drink.” Clasping my hand, he raised an eyebrow. “Considering the track record of mayhem happening to you, I wouldn’t be surprised if you turned purple, dropping dead the moment you took a bite or sip of whatever food or beverage.”
“Oh… you have a point.” I frowned, picturing yours truly turning purple, spewing foam out of my mouth, and dropping dead.
“Why are you two looking so… stressed?” Marion said, searching for the right words.
“Because I’ve been hearing voices that keep attempting to dupe me into grave danger,” I explained. “I almost dove into the deep hole reaching to Hell.”
“Oh really?” Marion cocked her head to the side, munching on the fries. “That sounds like the curse of the ring.”
“Excuse me?” I gasped.
“What did you just say?” Rick demanded.
“I told you it’s the curse of the ring.” Her lips were shaped in the form of a smile, but her eyes weren’t smiling at all.
“But….” When I attempted to ask more about the curse, such as how to avoid further mayhem, the big guy came out with a bottled Coke.
While Marion received her drink, Rick turned to me. “Give me the list and the map. I’ll carry them.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” I agreed.
“So, Marion,” Rick started. “What do you think about this neighborhood here? Does it look familiar to you?”
“Hmm… maybe, sort of?” The ghost possessing Alice’s body looked around. “The neighborhoods here look so alike on each street.” Shaking her head, she let out a small sigh.
Her demeanor seemed a tad bit dramatic, and I wondered if the ghost was playing dumb or if it was because of Alice; her host’s background was in acting, after all. I was tempted to shake her until her teeth fell out, but it was also true that Marion was the only clue that could lead to the burglar group.
“Don’t even think about conning us,” Rick warned. “I can always have you exorcised.”
“I’m not conning you.” Marion shrugged. “You want to find Mrs. Miller’s residence, don’t you?”
Rick snorted and took my hand. “Pay extra attention to your footing and above your head, okay?” Then he said to Marion, “Let’s go.”
“Okay,” Marion and I said in unison.
CHAPTER 8
Many things happened on our way to the next destination. For starters, an iron pipe fell from overhead at a construction site, and then a heavy wind blew, knocking a pot of cacti from the fifth-floor balcony. In each case, those objects barely missed me. As the fact that I was almost killed not only once but four times in the past hour sank into my mind, I grew super-skeptical about working on this case after all.
“Let’s call Brian,” I said, hand in hand with Rick.
“That’s exactly what I was thinking.” He nodded, still holding onto my hand. The moment he reached for his phone in his jacket pocket, I heard the screech of a vehicle, which drove toward us on the sidewalk as if the driver had every intention of slaughtering us.
For a split second, the world around me fell silent, as if time stopped ticking except for the two of us and the advancing vehicle. “Come on!” Rick jumped ahead, holding me in his strong arms like an oversized teddy bear.
My face was cold as June air caressed my cheeks while we flew, and the next thing, the vehicle crashed into the nearby building.
A whoosh of air was knocked out of my lungs as we landed onto the pavement.
Still held in his arms, I lay there frozen for a few seconds. The car—a black SUV, to be exact—had slammed into the brownstone across the sidewalk, exactly where we were standing until a few seconds before. That time, I seriously considered fainting like a delicate woman from the Victorian era, but I focused my attention on my body and assessed the damage. I had some dirt on my blouse and my skirt was slightly ripped, but nothing seemed to be broken. Indeed, it was a miracle that I got away without even a scratch. Then I noticed my purse was on the ground with a major tear, which was somewhat of a huge shocker as it was my good purse.
I felt like sobbing, but I realized I was still in Rick’s arms, and it wouldn’t be considered a nice gesture if I cried over a scratched purse before making sure my fiancé was okay.
“Rick, are you okay?” I asked nervously. Last time he saved me from grave physical harm, he had a broken ankle. I was truly worried about him.
“I’m good,” he replied. “Mandy, are you okay? Can you stand up?” Climbing to his feet, he helped me stand.
“I’m good. Thanks.” I felt embarrassed as bystanders gathered around us.
Marion approached us. “It’s another episode of the ring’s curse,” she said matter-of-factly.
“That’s enough! You know what’s the most annoying part of this whole mess? It’s you. Being attacked by a series of what you call ‘the curse of the ring’ is one thing, but having you hovering over us, bragging about the curse is a totally different story. I want you out of this investigation, and I want you out of my mother’s body. I’m calling Brian!” Rick spat and reached for the phone in his jacket, but it was no longer there.
“Are you looking for your phone? If so, it’s over there.” Marion pointed at the SUV. “Underneath the car’s tire. Hmm, that looks pretty much smashed. If I were you, I wouldn’t hold high hopes of using it.”
“Hell,” he muttered. “Can I borrow your phone?”
“Of course, let me retrieve my purse.” Rick still held my hand as I approached the damaged bag. “Here you are.” I took out my phone and handed it to him—and then the smartphone snapped into two pieces.
“Crap,” he muttered and glared at Marion. “You! Why do you keep assaulting Mandy when she’s not wearing the damned ring?”
“Right,” I chimed in. “Shouldn’t the ring cause mayhem to the person who wears it?”
“Oh, that depends. Sometimes the ring kills the loved ones of its owner—such as family members and lovers,” Marion said. She was big on shrugging since taking over Alice’s body, but that time she kept a straight face. Perhaps because Rick and I kept shooting daggers at her. “For example, when my father owned the ring, I was killed.”
“If that’s a joke, that’s not even funny,” Rick snorted. “The loved ones of the ring owner? So right now, Alice is the ring owner and you call Mandy Alice’s loved one? Seriously, Alice has not been a loving future mother-in-law to Mandy at all. For starters, she self-appointed herself as the wedding planner so she can screw up the whole thing. And then she puts on the damned ring without our permission, and look what’s happened. I don’t believe you.”
“As they say, believe it or not, your opinion doesn’t matter—what are you doing?” Marion gasped. Rick was pulling the ring off Alice’s finger. “Ouch! You’re hurting me! Help!”
“Come on, stop playing a victim.” Rick didn’t budge and kept pulling the ring. “Give the ring back to me.”
“Rick, perhaps you want to stop that,” I whispered, pulling his arm. “To bystanders, you look like a macho bully pushing around an old lady.”
“But she can’t keep the ring, for Christ’s sake,” he insisted. “I don’t want any more bad things to
happen to you. Besides that, I’m growing more and more concerned about the ghost possessing Alice’s body.” He looked at Marion in Alice’s body with a sideways glance.
“So you’re worried about your mom,” I said, trying not to grin, but apparently the corners of my lips were curved into a smile.
“Of course,” Rick admitted, smoothing my curved lips into a straight face with one hand. “Describing Alice Wunderlande as a handful qualifies as an understatement and she’s already messing up our wedding. I don’t want to even imagine what will happen if the ghost keeps possessing her.”
“I see.” He had a point.
“Now, Marion, let’s remove the ring.”
When Rick attempted to retrieve the ring, a shadow appeared from out of nowhere over me, along with a familiar voice. “Aha! That’s the famous haunted ring.”
I turned back, recognizing the owner of the voice as Brian Powers, a hotshot exorcist in Manhattan who also happened to be Rick’s best friend since childhood.
“Brian!” I exclaimed. Just like always, he was wearing Brian Powers gear with a Mafia-style black suit made of glistening fabric, completed with a silky black top hat and a black leather attaché case. I’d never been so happy to see the giant exorcist—Brian stood at 6’5”—in his signature dark outfit. “We were trying to call you but our phones got destroyed.”
“How did you find us?” Rick asked, still clutching Marion’s hand with the ring.
“I had a little angel visiting me while I was shooting at a studio in Broadway,” the exorcist said proudly, putting extra emphasis on the part about the studio in Broadway. Brian was a topnotch exorcist, but in terms of public exposure, he had been behind a celebrity psychic named Aurora Westwood who’d practically dominated the spiritual business on TV for decades. Personally, I preferred to call Aurora a witch rather than a psychic. Anyway, following a freak accident that placed her in a coma, she’d been suffering from dementia and hadn’t really recovered. A dozen TV shows that used to feature her as the super-duper star psychic had been canceled, but TV still needed those paranormal-themed shows. Thus, Brian Powers got a huge chunk of pie, and now he was starring on six TV and Internet-based shows that ran regularly.