“Fecal matter is natural,” Tim pointed out. “Nothing to be squeamish about.”
“Awesome,” I said, pushing his cookies toward him. “You can save that conversation for your dinner with Jennifer and Dip Doody. I’m sure it will be far more appreciated than it is right now.”
“Of course,” Tim said. “How did I do today?”
Missy giggled and gave him a thumbs up. “I’d say a B- with some extra credit points for beating Jennifer at her own game.”
Tim clasped his hands together in delight and gave Missy a jaunty nod of thanks. “I shall aspire to an A, but I happily accept your assessment of my progress.”
“I think I got a C,” Candy Vargo said, glancing around for Gram then pulling out a toothpick when she realized the coast was clear.
“You’re gonna drop to an F if you put that in your mouth,” I warned.
“Well, shit,” Candy griped, pocketing her toothpick. “All of you people suck.”
With that lovely parting shot, Candy grabbed a container of cookies and left.
“She needs some more work,” I muttered, handing Heather and Missy their cookies. “A lot of it.”
“I concur,” Tim said, standing up to take his leave. “Am I supposed to offer to help now?”
Biting down on my lip because I knew he was quite serious, I shook my head. “Nope. But the offer is always appreciated.”
“I shall put it in my notes,” Tim announced.
“You do that,” I replied.
“We’re out unless you need anything,” Heather said, holding Missy’s hand.
I smiled. “I’m good.”
“Me too,” Missy said, glancing over at me and winking. “Today was awesome.”
As they left, Heather silently mouthed that she would call me later. Tim was the last to leave.
“Missy is not normal,” he said as we watched them drive away.
“Define normal,” I said, taking the contacts out of my aching eyes and putting them in a glass on the counter.
“She’s not Immortal, but there is something unusual about her.”
“Is she in danger?” I asked, remembering Birdie’s warning.
“Isn’t everyone?” Tim answered.
“Are you joking or being cryptic?” I demanded.
Tim stood silent for a long moment and considered his answer. “Sadly, neither.”
Not the answer I wanted to hear.
However, forewarned was forearmed.
Chapter Ten
“This isn’t going well,” I said, twisting my hair in my fingers and groaning.
The Ouija board was not my friend this evening.
So far, I’d learned Birdie’s real name was Ethel and that she’d been dead for over thirty years. Thirty years was an incredibly long time to have stayed around, but Ethel was an odd one. She wasn’t fond of peas and she’d died of a heart attack shortly after performing fellatio on a famous politician who she refused to name. Not that I wanted to know who it was, but Gram was extremely put out that Ethel was keeping secrets.
“I’m gonna go Google it,” Gram announced.
“Google what?” I asked.
“Who Birdie was blowin’ the night she kicked the bucket,” Gram replied.
Thank God I wasn’t drinking anything because I would have snorted it out of my nose. “Umm… don’t think you’re going to find that on the internet. Plus, you can’t exactly use the computer. You’re dead,” I pointed out.
“And that’s where you’re wrong, Daisy girl—not about the expired part, seein’ I’m as dead as a doornail,” Gram announced triumphantly as her deceased boyfriend, Jimmy Joe Johnson, floated next to her and puffed out his semi-transparent chest proudly.
Jimmy Joe Johnson—aka the Mayor of Squatter Town, as I’d named him—used to cry all the time. However, now that he and Gram were courting, he smiled constantly. As unsettling as it was that my dead grandmother was dating, if she was happy then I was happy.
“Enlighten me,” I said, sure I would regret it.
“Well now, Jimmy Joe here discovered that if you yell the word annexa real loud at the black circle box thingie, it darn well answers you back. It’s magic,” Gram informed me, throwing her hands in the air with delight.
“Wait. What?” I asked, trying not to laugh. “Annexa?”
“Yep. Had to look the dang word up,” she said. “Means an accessory or adjoining anatomical parts or appendages. Doesn’t make much sense, but it works.”
“I think you mean Alexa,” I told her.
“Well, butter my butt and call it a biscuit,” Gram yelled. “Are you sure? I mean, when I shout annexa, the dang black circle box thingie ignores me. But since my Jimmy Joe has somewhat of a passed-on speech impediment, he can make that piece of metal sing.”
“I’m sure it’s Alexa,” I replied.
Ghosts using the Echo was yet one more unbelievable occurrence in my new normal. Of course, it shouldn’t surprise me that the black circle box thingie could understand the dead when humans couldn’t. It was a sly little contraption that I was pretty sure could read minds. All I had to do was think about something I wanted to buy and it was full of suggestions of where to purchase it.
“Good to know, sweetie pie,” Gram said over her shoulder as she and her beau, Jimmy Joe, floated away. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”
“Great. Can’t wait,” I muttered, eyeing Ethel, who grinned and lifted her middle finger. “You’re a pain in my ass.”
“Hoooooooookaaah,” she cackled.
“Listen to me, Ethel,” I said, blowing out a frustrated sigh. “I can’t dive into your mind right now, which is good and bad. Good because I’m terrified to take a trip into your head and bad because I probably need to. However, you’re going to slap your hand down on the Ouija board again and try to answer my questions. You feel me?”
“Yausssss.”
“Good.”
Using the Ouija board wasn’t like a dead man or woman mind dive. It was distinctly different. I’d learned that if a ghost and I touched the board at the same time, we could have a conversation of sorts. Ethel’s voice was distant and slightly off. I could make out what she was saying for the most part, but was aware I was missing some of it. I would have been happy to have missed the circumstances around her pornographic death, but unfortunately that had come through loud and clear.
“Ethel,” I said, trying again.
“No Ethel. Like Birdie,” she said in a whispery voice, raising her middle finger.
I laughed. “Got it. Birdie, can you tell me if you knew Missy when you were alive?”
“No,” she said.
“No, you didn’t know her, or no, you won’t tell me?” I pressed.
“Didn’t know alive,” Birdie said, her voice growing fainter.
“Shit,” I mumbled. I needed to ask easier questions. I wasn’t helping myself or Birdie. “You did not know Missy when you were alive. Nod your head if I’m correct.”
She nodded her head vigorously. I was delighted it didn’t fall off. I’d used two full tubes of superglue when I’d reattached it.
“When you said Missy was going to die for me, was that a literal statement?”
“No.”
“Was it about Missy at all?”
“No.”
My relief was visceral. It meant something else. What? That’s what I needed to figure out.
“Okay,” I said, wondering why in the heck she was all over Missy if she had no clue who she was.
Wait.
My stomach cramped and a headache developed over my left eye. Right now, I was my own worst enemy. If my mind kept creating farked-up scenarios, I’d be sporting a migraine soon. The direction of my thoughts sucked, but I had to take a stab at it. The chance of Birdie being able to communicate much longer was slim. I could barely hear her now
“Here goes nothing,” I muttered, pressing the throbbing spot on my forehead.
My theory was a long shot and ridiculous, but n
o more ridiculous than the fact that I was using a game board to talk to a dead woman who referred to me as a hooker… or that I had repaired thirty ghosts yesterday with superglue… or that I’d ripped a car door off a moving vehicle.
Sucking in a deep breath and hoping like hell I was on the wrong track I asked a question I wasn’t sure I wanted her to answer. “Did you know of Missy once you were dead?”
Birdie nodded.
My theory wasn’t as much of a long shot anymore.
“Is there someone inside of Missy who you know? Is that why you were so obsessed with her?”
Birdie hissed and her eyes grew huge in the hollowed-out sockets.
Involuntarily, I stood and jumped back. My chair crashed to the floor. The Ouija board flew off the table as a cold wind blasted through the farmhouse. Birdie’s scrawny body jettisoned to the ceiling and she wailed like a banshee, sending chills skittering up my spine.
“Yausssss,” she screeched. “Yausssss, yooouah. Piiieeece yooouah.”
Slapping my hands over my ears, I was sure I’d just lost fifty percent of my hearing. Birdie whipped around the kitchen like she’d eaten a vat of sugar and topped it off with ten gallons of coffee. The house literally shook on its foundation.
Her behavior was terrifying and her words baffling. I was definitely not inside Missy—nor was any piece of me. As far as I knew, I was physically in one piece. Mentally, I was a hot mess, but physically I was in one piece. Glancing down at myself, I counted my arms, legs and fingers just in case Birdie was correct and I was missing an appendage that had somehow hitched a ride inside my best friend.
I was not.
I almost laughed that I’d actually checked, but I wasn’t above disbelieving anything at this point.
Of course, there was a fine chance Birdie was confused. I’d noticed it with some of the other dead who’d stuck around for a while. Birdie had been hanging around as a ghost for over thirty years. I wasn’t sure how she’d stayed that long and I doubted she had her timing correct. The exact years didn’t matter. Even if she’d been dead on this plane for ten years, her mind had to be muddled. However, her bewilderment was not going to leave me homeless.
“Stop,” I shouted. “Stop right now.”
Birdie froze midair and trembled violently. The cold wind disappeared as quickly as it had arrived and the house settled. Her small frame wafted back down to the floor and her face was a dark ashen gray. It was the worst I’d seen her look. Birdie’s body had been semi-transparent since the first day I’d met her, but I could see through almost all of her now.
“Shit. What have I done?” I whispered with tears pooling in my eyes. “Birdie, are you okay?”
She nodded slowly and gave me a small smile. With a large part of her jaw missing it was macabre, but I’d never seen anything so beautiful. The ghost drove me nuts, but I secretly adored her.
It was time for the secret part to be revealed. Gram had taught me if you have something nice to say, you should darn well say it.
Reaching out and gently stroking her papery cheek, I leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know how much that would upset you. You’re important to me, Birdie. As much as I’ve wanted to smack you upside your dead head, I also love you.”
Birdie tilted her head and moved her mouth. Not a word came out. Never had I missed being called a hooker so much in my life. Her sunken eyes darkened with confusion when she realized she couldn’t make a sound.
“It’s fine,” I said, plastering a smile on my lips that didn’t reach my eyes. “I think you just lost your voice from screaming. You’ll get it back in no time.”
She nodded, but didn’t look convinced. I wasn’t convinced either.
“You’ll be calling me foul names again tomorrow,” I promised. “Wanna flip me off?”
Birdie shook her head no. My chest tightened.
“You want me to flip you off?” I suggested, desperately needing her to smile.
Again, she shook her head no.
“Umm… you want me to flip Gram off?”
That plan of action got a weak grin.
“Excellent,” I said. “One middle finger salute to my grandmother coming right up.”
Birdie had aged dramatically in a few short minutes. It was an odd observation to make since she was already dead, but it was as if the admission took what life was left right out of her.
No more Ouija board for Birdie. If I needed to speak to her again, I was going in. To hell with being careful. I lost the privilege the day I’d turned forty and started seeing dead people.
Besides, how much damage could one more freaking mind dive do?
“There’s someone living inside Missy,” I said.
Heather stared at me open-mouthed. “Missy’s possessed?”
Heather had come back over when I texted her there might be a problem. She’d told Missy that one of her clients needed assistance. It was ten at night, but everyone knew Heather worked twenty-four-seven.
It wasn’t a total lie…
I wasn’t exactly a client since I technically worked for Heather as a paralegal, not that I’d been to work in a while. Jennifer and June worked for Heather, too. We’d all left our old firm, run by my newly discovered pappy, John Travolta, when Heather had decided to go out on her own.
Best move I’d ever made.
She’d raised our pay, included medical, insisted on a bonus and had a profit-sharing plan. It was beyond generous, but then again, so was Heather.
“No, Missy’s not possessed,” I assured her, scanning the living room to make sure Birdie wasn’t floating around. I couldn’t afford to lose the rest of my auditory senses if she got upset again. “I think Missy’s a Soul Keeper.”
“That’s real?” Heather asked, scratching her head. “I’ve honestly never heard of a Soul Keeper until this afternoon.”
“Apparently, yes,” I confirmed. “Birdie, whose real name is Ethel, but wants to be called Birdie, told me.”
“Told you what?” Heather asked, walking over to the couch and gently pushing Karen and Donna over to make room for herself.
“Let me backtrack,” I said, pacing the living room. “First off, Ethel was a hooker and died shortly after giving a politician a blow job.”
“He killed her over a blow job?” Heather choked out, appalled.
“Umm… no,” I said, unable to swallow back my wildly inappropriate laugh. “She had a heart attack after blowing the politician. My guess is that the blow job wasn’t lethal.”
“Got it. And that has something to do with Missy?” she asked, confused.
“No. I’m doing a terrible job with this story.”
Heather gave me a lopsided grin. “I’m going to have to agree.”
“Thank you,” I said with an eye roll.
“Welcome,” she replied.
I kept moving around the room. If I sat down, I might implode. My brain was carrying too much information, yet not enough… It was a frustrating spot to be in.
“When Missy and I were doing the dishes, she told me the story of the Soul Keepers.”
“And?” Heather pressed.
“And even though she thinks it’s a wives’ tale, I don’t believe it is,” I said, picking up my pace and jogging in circles.
“You’re making me dizzy,” Heather said.
“Can’t be helped,” I replied. “Gotta move.”
“Fine. Keep talking.”
“Roger that,” I said, using the ottoman as a hurdle jump. “So, a soul goes into a Soul Keeper when an Angel wishes it ill.”
“What the hell?” Heather muttered.
“Exactly what I thought,” I said, breaking into jumping jacks. “And Missy’s great-granny told her that when a soul is ready to move on, the Soul Keeper has to find a Death Counselor to help.”
Heather gasped. “Get out of town.”
“I’d love to,” I replied with a laugh. “No can do since I just took a fictional two-week vacation with the Grim Re
aper. So anyhoo, Birdie didn’t know Missy when she was alive. She became aware of Missy after she died.”
“Was that why she was so attached to her this afternoon?”
“Yes, and also because Birdie believes that Missy is carrying the soul of a person she knows,” I said, dropping to the floor and doing pushups to change it up.
“She told you that?” Heather asked, now pacing the room.
“Kind of,” I said. “I was using the Ouija board so it wasn’t exactly clear. I also think she was confused. She told me she’d been dead for over thirty years and implied that it was a piece of me inside Missy.”
Heather froze and examined me from head to toe.
I laughed. I’d had the same reaction.
“I’m all here,” I promised.
“You sure?” she asked, worried.
“Yep. I’m positive. However, something is really wonky.”
Heather was pensive as she moved to the window and stared out at the darkness. “I agree,” she said softly.
“After the luncheon, Birdie pointed to Missy and said she would die for me,” I explained, rolling over to my back and launching into a punishing round of crunches. The pain felt good.
“I’m sorry. What?” Heather demanded, whipping around from the window.
“Don’t worry—even though I still am,” I admitted. “When I questioned Birdie, she said that Missy wasn’t going to die for me.”
“Then what did she mean?”
I sighed and finally let my body relax. “I don’t know. I’d have to mind dive to really talk to her.”
“That’s out of the question right now,” Heather said firmly.
“Do you know something more than we already discussed?”
Heather paused far too long for my liking.
“Out with it,” I said.
“I could be wrong,” she said hesitantly.
“Or you could be right,” I pointed out.
She nodded and rolled her neck. Clearly, she was feeling the tension. “It’s a remote possibility that each time you dive into the dead, you’re losing your mortality.”
“You told me a person had to be created Immortal,” I reminded her as I jumped to my feet and began to run in place like I was gunning for first place in a marathon. “I don’t have a footprint.”
A Most Excellent Midlife Crisis : A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel : Good To The Last Death Book Three Page 9