Happy Birthday, Marge

by Shari Hearn

  “Why look, Eleanor,” Barton said, holding up his cane and pointing to us, “it’s your Cousin Fortune and...” Barton took a good look at Carter in his uniform. “I hope you’re not going to arrest this young lady. We just met and she’s a distant cousin of my wife.”

  Carter shot me a look at the word, “cousin.”

  Eleanor clasped her hands together. “I hope everything’s okay.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Gidley,” I said, “this is my friend, Carter. He’s a deputy, and he just came over to ask if we knew anything about an incident at the mayor’s house. Which we don’t,” I said for Carter’s benefit. I then turned to him. “Eleanor Gidley is my Great-Aunt Marge’s long-lost distant cousin, which makes me a cousin as well. They’re just passing through from...” I just realized I had no idea where they were from.

  “Illinois,” Barton said.

  Carter shook hands with them. “Nice to meet you both. You’re related to Marge Boudreaux?”

  “Yes,” Eleanor said. “Marge had her DNA tested and we discovered that we were a match. Unfortunately, by the time we got around to looking her up, she’d already passed.”

  “I’m sorry you never met her. You couldn’t be related to a finer woman,” Carter said. “My mom took one of those tests and hired someone to dig around in her tree. It seems she’s descended from King Louis the twelfth of France.”

  Eleanor’s jaw dropped. “Oh my.”

  Carter nodded. “That and two-fifty will get you a cup of coffee at Francine’s.” He smiled as the Gidleys laughed. “You two are out kinda late, aren’t you?”

  Mrs. Gidley locked her arm around her husband’s and said, “The mister and I were watching the meteor shower. We heard late at night was the perfect time, so we thought we’d stroll around and watch the night sky.”

  “Are you two staying at the motel?” Carter asked.

  They both nodded.

  “Well, we’ve had a string of burglaries lately, so do be sure to secure your valuables.”

  “We’ll be sure to do that,” Barton said. “We were just heading back to the motel now.”

  “Why don’t I give you a ride back there,” Carter said. “That way I can make sure everything’s secure at your motel room.”

  “We don’t want to put you out,” Barton said.

  “No bother. I insist.”

  “Well, okay then,” Eleanor said. She looked at me. “See you tomorrow for Marge’s party.”

  We said our goodnights and Carter and the Gidleys drove away. I walked back to the porch, where Gertie was waiting in Marge’s porch swing. Ida Belle sat on a wicker chair.

  “We had to come out for some fresh air,” Ida Belle said.

  “Do you think he bought it?” asked Gertie.

  I shook my head. “Not for one minute. But he has bigger concerns.”

  Chapter Ten

  Marge

  “DON’T WE ALL?” MARGE said.

  The ghost sat next to Gertie on the porch swing. HER porch swing. The one she had put in when she first bought this house. The porch swing that would scrape the stone column behind it if you swung too far, much like it was doing now because Gertie was swinging too far, which Marge always had to remind her not to do. Detach, Marge.

  After leading Coco back inside Celia’s house, Marge had raced through the front door (literally) and made her way to Gertie’s, then Ida Belle’s, and now, to Fortune’s. Mine, my house, Marge thought. She’d arrived just as the Swamp Team Two Plus One was rehearsing their Chipmunk song to be sung for Carter. No wonder Gertie had chosen that song. The girls used to spike the eggnog at the Sinful Senior Center Christmas party, sneak into the supply room for a helium tank, and entertain everyone with their salty rendition of the Chipmunk Christmas song. Ida Belle had been Simon. Fitting. She’d always been the brains of the operation. Marge was Theodore, the little chubby Chipmunk, though Marge was more stocky than chubby, she had always reminded them. She did all the heavy lifting in the group. And Gertie... Yep, Gertie was always Alvin.

  Marge was actually surprised that Carter was finally getting wise to their shenanigans. She smiled, remembering the things they used to pull over on Sheriff Lee when the Swamp Team 3 would complete a mission.

  “We had fun back then, didn’t we?” Marge asked wistfully.

  “We sure did,” Gertie said.

  Marge whipped her head around and stared at Gertie. “Did you just hear me?”

  “We sure did, what?” Ida Belle asked.

  “Oh,” Gertie said, “I was just thinking about Marge and how we used to pull things over on Sheriff Lee before Sheriff Lee... you know...”

  “Lost it?” Fortune asked.

  “Well, Sheriff Lee was always a bit of an eccentric, but we used to have him going in circles. Much more so than Carter.”

  “What got you thinking about that?” Ida Belle asked.

  “Me,” Marge said. “Because I’m starting to get inside her head.”

  Gertie shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I could just picture Marge saying we used to have fun.” She sighed. “Do you think she would be happy with what we’re doing with her party? I mean, everything so far has been pretty much a disaster, except for the magician. That’s the only bright side. Oh, I forgot. He called and asked if he could come over tonight and take a look at your backyard for his setup tomorrow. I told him we’d be gone all night but that he was welcome to look.”

  “In the dark?” Fortune asked.

  Gertie shrugged. “It was the only time he could make it. He said he’d bring a strong flashlight.”

  Marge shook her head. “He probably cased the joint to see escape routes. That magician might end up killing your little friend here.” She leaned in and yelled in Gertie’s ear, “Do you hear me? I think he’s a killer!”

  Gertie smiled. “I think the magician’s going to be a killer act.” She looked upward. “If you’re here, Marge, I think you’ll be happy.”

  Marge sighed. At least the word “killer” sunk in. That was some progress.

  “The way Coco acted, as if he were chasing someone, even I might start to believe Marge was here,” Ida Belle said.

  “Sometimes I think we interpret things the way we want them to be,” said Fortune.

  Gertie ran a hand through her hair. “I just want to do right by her with this party. I’m afraid it’s all going to blow up in our faces.”

  “What are you talking about?” Fortune asked. “Things are going well. We have half of the helium balloons all blown up. You already made the appetizers and some of the Sinful Ladies are bringing food. The cake you ordered will be baked by Ally.”

  “You called Ally or Francine to confirm, right?”

  Fortune held up her hand. “I spoke with Fred again.”

  Gertie groaned, followed by a groan from Marge and Ida Belle.

  “He assured me everything will go off as planned. Look, all Marge’s friends are coming. You have a memorial bench up for her. Okay, maybe it’s facing Celia’s tree and not Marge’s, but we can go later and move it. We rescued the bone with her ashes. And you said yourself, you landed a magician.”

  “Who’s going to try to kill you if I can’t stop him,” Marge interjected. “If I can’t get through to you three what danger you’re in, I’m going to have to fight him myself, which is a pretty tall order given I’m a new ghost and know diddly squat how to do it.”

  Gertie brought the swing to a halt. “I wonder.”

  “Wonder what?” Fortune asked.

  “The magician seemed all right, didn’t he?”

  Marge pumped her fist in the air in triumph. Finally.

  Ida Belle stood. “Don’t overthink things. Marge always wanted a magician and we finally got her one.” She yawned. “It’s getting late. Let’s all get some sleep.”

  Gertie got up from the porch swing. “Do you need us to help you blow up the last of the balloons?”

  Fortune shook her head. “I’ll finish them. I have to stay up late anyway to read up o
n Marge’s family so I can share with the Gidleys.”

  “There are a few boxes in the attic with her family tree, photos and written stories,” Gertie said.

  “A few boxes?” Fortune asked, wincing.

  Ida Belle shrugged. “She got a little obsessed about it.”

  Gertie and Ida Belle headed down the walk toward the SUV. Fortune watched them go, then turned back toward the house. The ghost followed and chatted in her ear. “I’m going to try to get inside Gertie’s dream tonight to convince her to convince you to wear a bulletproof vest tomorrow. I’ve heard other ghosts talking about it. I wish I could get inside your dream, but we didn’t have a connection before I died, so I don’t think I could.”

  She swiped at her ear as she stepped inside the house, closing the door on Marge.

  “What part of ‘detach’ do you not understand, Miss Boudreaux?”

  The voice came from the porch swing. Marge spun around to find Miss Mellette, rocking back and forth.

  “It’s gone beyond detaching,” Marge said. “My premonitions say that all hell will break loose at the party and that that girl’s life is in danger.”

  Miss Mellette got up from the swing and smoothed her dress. “Did it ever occur to you that whatever is going to happen to that girl and your two hooligan friends is meant to happen?”

  Marge pointed toward the door. “It’s not that girl’s time, if that’s what you’re saying.” She fixed her steely gaze on Miss Mellette. “When I was serving in Vietnam, I was involved in a very complicated, dangerous mission behind enemy lines gathering intel. I got shot in the process and my two ‘hooligan’ friends risked their lives to save me. I told them to run, save themselves. I even said to them, ‘Girls, looks like it’s my time.’ They didn’t buy it and I don’t buy it that it’s Fortune’s time. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to figure out how to get inside Gertie’s dream so she can prepare Fortune. And tomorrow I’ll be there to help in whatever way possible.”

  Marge headed down the walk. Miss Mellette sighed. “You can’t save everyone, Marge. You tried that when you were alive, I know you did. I had eyes. I watched you and your cohorts with the Sinful Ladies.”

  Marge turned and looked back at Miss Mellette, who’d never been a fan of the SLS. However, her statement almost sounded like a compliment. “You’re right. I can’t save everyone. But I can certainly try to save her. So if you don’t mind—”

  Miss Mellette interrupted her. “You know, when my mother was sick, months before she was ready to pass, I was run ragged caring for her. Three times a week someone would leave a casserole on my doorstep. I’ve always wondered who did that.”

  Marge stared at her. Miss Mellette was always a tough-as-nails teacher. Her job while alive was to teach teenage girls how to become good wives and mothers, and whoever scoffed at that idea received the brunt of Miss Mellette’s ire. But her toughness had also made her a proud woman. When she had needed help, she never asked for it, despite the strain she’d been under caring for her ailing mother. Marge shrugged and said, “As you well know, I didn’t bake. The domestic arts were never my calling.”

  “No, but Gertie does, and always showed great promise as a homemaker. As for you and Ida Belle... whoever would leave the casseroles early in the morning would also sweep up my porch, and one time I even woke to find my car washed and my porch swing with a bright new stain added. Once a week, a bag of groceries would magically appear. I asked Celia if she knew who the good Samaritans were and she took credit for it.”

  Of course Celia would take credit for it. Marge tried to not show a reaction, but her aura got in the way.

  Miss Mellette smiled. “I thought so.”

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Marge said, “I’ve got to go figure out how to enter Gertie’s dream.”

  As Marge turned once again down the walkway, Miss Mellette called out to her. “While she’s sleeping, run your hand along her aura and match her vibration. If she’s in a dream cycle, and you can detect that by her eye movements, you’ll slip right inside.”

  Marge turned back toward Miss Mellette. “Thank you.”

  Miss Mellette wagged her ghostly finger at Marge. “I expect you to keep this information to yourself. I never teach dream walking until a ghost has shown some detachment from their former lives. We can’t be having every young ghost out there joyriding in people’s dreams, can we?” She smiled. “Even if slipping inside Celia’s dreams once in a while might seem like fun.”

  A smile crept over Marge’s face. Indeed, it did. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry for putting Bourbon in your chicken stock once. And I’m sorry about the stink bomb in the faculty lounge, and for slipping in the banned rock and roll records at the senior prom.”

  Miss Mellette held up her hand. “You’d better quit while you’re ahead.” And with that, she disappeared.

  Chapter Eleven

  I HADN’T EXPECTED THE boxes marked “genealogy research” to be so big. Ida Belle wasn’t kidding about Marge being obsessed about it. Three big plastic bins, stuffed with notebooks filled with family tree pages and bios of relatives living and those long gone. I guess it fit with Marge’s personality. She had been an intelligence officer during the Vietnam War and organized the files like a true operative. I scanned her family tree first. I didn’t see Eleanor Gidley, but that didn’t surprise me. She was a distant relative, someone who had surfaced after they both had taken a DNA test.

  The branches Marge had uncovered impressed me. So many names: Boudreaux, Cormier, Thibodeau, St. Amour, Lemieux, Gaudet, Dupuis, Millet and Breaux.

  I pulled my eyes away from the family tree sheets and stared at the attic wall, wondering what names would be in my tree. That led, of course, to thoughts of my mom. I’d give anything for boxes of photographs of my mom and the memories to go with them. Instead, my main memories were of my father after she had died, and how I’d always felt I was disappointing him. We hadn’t spent that much time together from when I was eight, after my mom died, until I was fifteen, when he died. He had been one of the top CIA agents in his day, so he was mostly on assignment while I was living with Director Morrow and his wife, or Morrow’s assistant, Hadley. They were the ones who raised me. When my father would come home he’d pick me up from the Morrows and take me to what home used to be. Where we were strangers. While some of my classmates would go on vacations with their parents, we’d go target shooting or fishing, where I would try to show off how good I was, only to receive a “you can do better than that” in return.

  I looked back at the smiling images in Marge’s photos. “You’re lucky, Marge,” I said aloud. “You actually had a family.”

  I thought of Mrs. Gidley, a woman a bit like me, I guess. She grew up not really knowing who she was in the world. Maybe my birthday gift to Marge was to give Eleanor Gidley a little of her family back. Despite the late hour, I was determined to familiarize myself with enough names and stories to give Mrs. Gidley a more complete picture of her heritage. Somewhere back in the late 1600s I started to drift and fell asleep.

  And dreamed of my father.

  He was testing me. He usually tests me in a dream, as he did throughout my life until he died. In this particular dream, he pulled a sword from a sheath and was about to strike me with it.

  “What do you do?” he shouted. I faked a move to my left. He started to follow with the sword and I pivoted right, ready to strike with a kick to his shins. “Be careful of the woman with the gun!” he shouted. He started to say more, but I woke with a start. Dreams with an appearance by my father usually are short as I wake before they really get going. But I’ve noticed over the years that when he’s in a dream, the next day’s events are usually tumultuous, as if I’ve manufactured him in a dream to help keep me on my toes.

  Of course, those kinds of dreams usually happened the night before I would slip into assassin-mode and do my job helping to protect the security of the world. Tomorrow was a birthday party. Certainly a birthday party in Sinful could go
off without a hitch.

  Couldn’t it?

  Chapter Twelve

  Marge

  IDA BELLE WAS THE ONLY one of the three who looked rested for the big day as she and Gertie arrived at the house formerly known as Marge’s. Marge wasn’t exactly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed herself as she had worked hard all night invading Gertie’s dreams.

  It would be a fallacy to think that ghosts don’t get tired. Ghosts use energy, and it takes a lot of energy to move around in the physical world and in the living person’s dream world. Especially Gertie’s dreams, which would definitely be classified as action-adventure. All night long in her dreams, Gertie, Ida Belle and Fortune teamed up with the likes of Robert Redford, Denzel Washington, George Clooney and Meryl Streep to solve crimes happening in Sinful. Marge joined them as well and kept nagging them all to be on the watch for a gunman. After four dream cycles, Gertie had woken up from a musical featuring dancing bulletproof vests.

  After emptying Gertie’s car of platters of food, ice cream and beverages, the Swamp Team Two Plus One convened in the kitchen to discuss party preparations over muffins and coffee. Fortune leaned against the granite countertop while Gertie propped herself against the island, leaning forward on her elbows. Ida Belle took the lead and began mapping out the morning.

  “Okay, we’ve got signs to put out front telling people to go through the side yard to the back. We’ve got decorations to be put up in the living room and food tables to set up. And we’ll need two stages out back, one for the music and one for the magician.”

  Gertie interrupted her with a vigorous shake of her head.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “About the magician. I think maybe I’ll call and cancel.”