“Price Is Right in Daisy’s bedroom,” Gram hollered to the ghosts as she flew around the living room and headed for the stairs. “You comin’ darlin’?”
“Go on up,” I said. “I’ll be there in a few.”
I felt Gideon’s eyes on me as I paced the living room and muttered to myself.
“You okay?” he asked warily as Steve floated next to him, equally concerned.
“Can you call a meeting together while I watch an episode of The Price Is Right with Gram?” I asked.
Gideon nodded.
“Great,” I said, giving him a quick kiss then starting up the stairs.
“Daisy?” Gideon asked.
“Yes?” I looked back at him.
“You want to give me a few more details?”
Smacking myself in the forehead, I groaned. “That would probably be helpful.”
“It might,” Gideon agreed with a grin.
“I need Tim, Candy Vargo, Charlie, Heather, you and Darth Vader to be here.” I checked my watch and debated if I should wait till tomorrow.
Nope. The ball was rolling and I wasn’t going to drop it.
“What time?” Gideon asked, pulling out his cell phone.
“Two,” I replied. “But ask Heather if she can be here at one-thirty please.”
“Am I giving a reason for the gathering?” he inquired, curious himself.
I paused and stared at the man I loved. “No. Just tell them to be here.”
“Roger that,” he said, looking at me strangely. “Go watch the show. I’ll take care of it.”
My heart sped up and I wanted to tell him what I had planned, but something stopped me.
“Thank you.”
“Always, Daisy,” he said. “I will always have your back.”
I nodded, afraid I was going to word vomit everything inside my head. I couldn’t take the chance he would talk me out of it. With one last smile, I turned and mounted the stairs.
I knew Gideon hadn’t done it. Actually, I would bet my life on it. He was with me when I’d told the story to John Travolta that I’d always believed. However, while I trusted Gideon completely, everyone else was guilty until proven innocent.
“How hard is it to reverse a thought planted in someone’s mind?” I asked Heather. “And what would it do to the person? Would it hurt them?”
“Hello to you, too,” she said, entering the house.
“Sorry. Hi,” I said, taking her coat and hanging it in the foyer closet. “Can the magic be reversed?”
“Why?” she asked, perplexed. “I don’t think the thoughts I put in Jennifer, June and Missy’s heads are harmful. I mean, I was stupid to have done it without asking you first, but—”
“Not what I’m talking about.” I took her by the arm and led her to the kitchen where we would have privacy. I didn’t need Gram overhearing. She still wasn’t quite right in the head. Actually, none of us were quite right in the head, but she wasn’t completely back to herself yet.
Gideon had run out to Smithee’s Wine and Cheese Shop to pick up some snacks. Smithee’s was normally out of my price range, but Gideon had insisted on paying. For a second, I wondered how much money he had, but stopped myself just short of asking. The answer would probably make me pass out, and I didn’t have time for that.
The meeting wasn’t exactly a party, but in the South, food was required at any gathering longer than a half hour.
“Explain to me why you want to know that,” Heather said, opening the fridge and searching for a bottle of water.
“First answer the question,” I said.
Heather found the water, took a long swallow and eyed me with concern. “I’ve never reversed it,” she said. “I’ve only planted thoughts twice.”
“In Jennifer, June and Missy?”
“Yes, and once a few hundred years ago,” she confirmed. “I’m not exactly proud of any of it, but both times it was to help someone I loved.”
A feeling of relief washed over me. I didn’t think Heather had planted the false story of my mother’s death into Gram’s mind, but since I was aware she could do it, I couldn’t rule her out… until now. Hopefully. A little more insurance was needed.
“Who is the person you would die for?” I asked.
“What kind of question is that?” Heather demanded.
“A very serious one.”
“Daisy,” Heather said, wildly confused. “What is going on?”
“Please just answer.”
Heather ran her hands through her hair and sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. “Missy. I would die for Missy.”
“Would you be willing to swear on Missy’s life that those two times were the only two times you planted new memories?”
“Swearing on the life of someone I love is harsh,” Heather said slowly. “However, whatever it is you’re not telling me is clearly important. Correct?”
I nodded and waited.
Heather took another sip and sighed. “Yes. I would swear on Missy’s life that the two instances I told you about were the only times I’ve planted memories.”
Blowing out the breath I didn’t know I was holding, I sat down at the kitchen table and closed my eyes. “Thank God,” I whispered.
“You believe in God now?” she asked, sitting down across from me and handing me her half-drunk bottle of water.
“I believe enough to say thank you,” I said with a weak smile and took a sip.
“Okay,” she said, clearly still confused. “You going to tell me why we’re having this discussion?”
“I am,” I promised. “But I need you to explain something else first.”
“Shoot,” she said, resting her elbows on the table and leaning forward.
“If the thoughts were reversed—back to the truth—what would happen?”
Heather grew pensive and rubbed her temples. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
“You have to know,” I insisted. This was not part of my plan. Heather was a gazillion years old. She had to know.
“I’m not comfortable reversing anything I planted in Missy, June or Jennifer,” she said firmly. “While what I did wasn’t exactly ethical, it didn’t harm them in any way. And it got you out of having to explain the unexplainable.”
“I’m not asking you to do that,” I told her.
“Then what are you asking me to do?” Heather asked, growing frustrated.
I didn’t blame her, but I needed to understand as much as I could before I laid all my cards on the table.
“Hypothetically speaking… could you reverse the thoughts planted in someone’s mind if you hadn’t planted them?”
She stared at me like I was crazy. That was already a given and didn’t bother me a bit.
“No,” she said, standing up, walking back over to the fridge and pulling out a full-sugared Coke.
Heather didn’t drink soda. Ever. I’d clearly rattled her.
“Only the person who put the thoughts in the mind can reverse it… that is, if it can be reversed at all,” she said, wincing as she took a sip of the soda.
“If you drink that you’re going to be wired,” I pointed out.
“Already am,” she said. “Daisy, if you need my help, you have to tell me what’s going on.”
“Fine. I agree,” I said, taking the Coke from her and finishing it off in one enormous swallow. “I think someone implanted the wrong cause of my mother’s death in Gram’s mind. She’s always believed that my mother fell in love with one of the dead she was counseling and followed him into the darkness by committing suicide.”
“Oh my God,” Heather said, scanning the kitchen counter. “Where are the cookies June made?”
“In the cookie jar,” I said.
“Of course they are,” she muttered, bringing the entire jar over to the table and digging in. “So, tell me this. How do you know that’s not true?”
“Because my mother isn’t in the darkness,” I said as Heather practically choked on her cookie.
�
��Did you ask Gideon?”
I nodded and grabbed a cookie. “And John Travolta.”
“Is she in the light?” Heather asked, trying to piece together the story.
“Daddy Dearest said she’s destined for the light. Kind of sounds like she might be in limbo somewhere.”
“Pardon my sailor mouth, but that’s fucked up,” Heather said flatly. “Never heard of that.”
“You’ve also never heard of a Soul Keeper,” I reminded her.
“True,” she agreed. “Did you try to tell Gram the truth?”
“As much of it as I know,” I confirmed.
“And?” Heather pressed, curious.
“She went kind of robot-zombie on me—got incredibly upset and kept repeating the exact same phrase—Your mama killed herself to follow her lover into the darkness. Suicide. Guaranteed ticket to Hell.”
“Holy shit,” Heather muttered. “And that’s why you called the meeting? To figure out who implanted the wrong information?”
I nodded, feeling all kinds of guilty. “I’m—”
“Daisy, don’t,” Heather said, touching my hand. “I’m going to hope you didn’t think I would do something like that, but I also understand how much Gram means to you.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, wishing I hadn’t just downed a soda and five cookies. My stomach roiled.
“Nope. No apologies,” Heather said. “None. If I’m being honest… and I am, I’d do the same.”
I still felt wonky, but I did what I had to do and one of my best friend’s wasn’t furious with me. So far so good.
“Do you know who else can plant memories? Can John Travolta?” I asked.
Heather was silent for a long moment. “I don’t know. But I sure as hell can help you find out. You think this will get us closer to finding Clarissa?”
“I don’t know,” I conceded, twisting my hair in my fingers. I watched Donna the Destroyer chase her tail around the kitchen and hoped I wasn’t doing the same thing. “However, it gets us closer to something.”
“Your logic is…” Heather started.
“Flawed,” I finished for her. “However, it’s a puzzle piece. I’m starting to believe everything might be connected in some kind of farked-up way.”
Heather took in what I said then nodded. “I’ve got your back, Daisy.”
“I love you, Heather.”
“Right back at you.”
Chapter Seventeen
Immortals were prompt. They were not a minute early and they were not a second late.
Heather and Gideon were already here. At two sharp, everyone else I’d invited had arrived on my doorstep. One was bearing a gift and one came with needles. I wasn’t thrilled about the needles, but it would save me a trip to the lab.
“I brought a dish,” Tim announced with pride as my dogs sniffed the air then slunk away.
Donna and Karen’s reaction didn’t bode well for Tim’s culinary skills. My dogs would eat anything—including poop. Tim didn’t notice that the aroma had offended my dogs. He kept right on talking.
“Found the recipe in a cookbook I failed to deliver due to the recipient calling me an unsavory name. This particular individual, who shall remain nameless, also cheats on her taxes, has procured an illegal cable box and lives in the blue house with the overgrown lawn three doors down from the park on South Street. I felt justified in keeping the cookbook… among other things. The wonderful part of the story is that I just so happened to have all of the ingredients in my pantry.”
“Wow,” I said, taking the enormous tin-foil-covered platter from his hands while breathing through my mouth so I couldn’t smell it. There was a whole hell of a lot wrong with his story, but I refused to take the bait. I’d deal with it another time. “Thank you.”
Tim winked. “I’m working towards an A,” he whispered. “I also refrained from rehoming three of the twelve vibrators that went through the mail system this week.”
It was tempting to ask him what he had done with the other nine, but I didn’t want to know. Tim had now dropped from a B- to a D+ with a little extra credit for bringing food to the meeting. It was irrelevant if it was inedible.
“For the most part, I’m proud of you,” I told him, praying he wasn’t the one. In a very short time, Tim had wedged his way into my heart and I was completely fine with it. I enjoyed him—even with his penchant for outlandish illegal activities.
“Thank you,” he replied, pulling a piece of paper from the pocket of his uniform. “I wasn’t sure what kind of party this was going to be, so I prepared some trivia.”
“Umm… it’s not really that kind of gathering,” I told him.
Tim’s chin dropped to his chest and he made a squeaky noise that brought my guilt roaring to the forefront. The man was crushed.
Shit.
“However, a bit of trivia could lighten the mood,” I said, sure I would regret trying to spare his feelings.
“I wouldn’t eat that crap,” Candy Vargo announced, pointing to the platter and waltzing around my house like she owned it.
“Candy Vargo, you’re makin’ my butt itch,” Gram snapped, appearing from out of nowhere and getting up in Candy’s face. “You’re gonna need to slap that yap trap shut. I don’t see you bearin’ any hostess gift. Tim here is workin’ on his manners. It’s not goin’ real well, but he’s tryin’. It don’t matter that what he brought smells like a wet dog after a polecat bath.”
“Thank you,” Tim said to Gram while making a face at Candy.
It was shocking to watch people who were older than time act like fourth graders.
“She just said your dish smelled like a skunk’s ass,” Candy pointed out gleefully to Tim.
“That’s it,” Gram shouted as Candy realized she’d gone about ten steps too far and dove behind the armchair to avoid Gram’s wrath. “I’m gonna jerk your tail in a knot and cancel your dang birth certificate. You apologize to Tim right this second.”
“Are you serious?” Candy asked, appalled.
Gram’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Do I look serious to you?” she demanded.
“I’m going to go with a yes,” Candy muttered, terrified.
Gram was dead. She was a ghost. Candy was Karma. She controlled fate. The exchange fascinated me. Bottom line… don’t screw with fate and never screw with Gram.
“Can’t hear ya,” Gram said, putting her hand up to her ear.
“I have to do it now? In front of everyone?” Candy asked, feeling the situation out.
Charlie and John Travolta wandered into the house after chatting on the porch and watched the standoff with interest. Heather and Gideon came out of the kitchen to see what the fuss was about and ten ghosts floated down the stairs for the show.
“Yep,” Gram snapped, slapping her hands on her hips. “I’m doin’ this for your own good, Candy Vargo. You’ve been alive far too long to have such crappy manners, bless your heart. But now you have me, and I’m gonna fix you if it’s the last thing I do.”
“Good luck,” Heather said, putting an array of fancy hors d’oeuvres on the coffee table.
“I’d suggest you apologize,” Charlie said, grinning. “Gram means business.”
“No one asked you,” Candy shot back and walked over to Tim. Sucking in a huge breath, bouncing on her toes for a few minutes and then finally letting out a pained groan, she did as she was told—kind of. “Gram says I have to say I’m sorry.”
The dead squatters applauded Candy’s shitty apology, but Gram was having none of it.
“What the ever-lovin’ hell kind of apology was that?” Gram hissed.
“It was fine,” Tim said with a chuckle. “For Candy, it was exceptional. I accept.”
“Daisy,” Charlie said, placing a leather case on the sofa. “Do you mind if I draw some blood before we get started?”
Now was as good a time as any. John Travolta seated himself on the armchair that Candy had been hiding behind and watched silently. He was uncomfortable being here, and I didn
’t care. In the Land of Make Believe, I’d dreamed of having a father. In the Land of Reality, it sucked. I didn’t want him in my home. Missy had given me sage a while back and I planned to put it to good use later this afternoon.
My gut said Darth Vader hadn’t planted the false information in Gram’s mind, but my gut had been wrong many times. If it had served his purpose to do it, he would.
“Normally, I’d do this at the lab,” Charlie said in his kind way. “But since I was coming by, I thought we could get it done lickety-split.”
“Sure,” I said, handing Tim the odiferous platter then rolling up my sleeve. I was happy I’d downed a soda and ate a bunch of cookies. Giving blood made me light-headed. I had no clue how much blood Charlie would need to take. “What will you test for?”
Charlie pulled out some needles, syringes, tubes and antiseptic wipes. “Irregular DNA and other abnormalities. I was able to pull your file from last year’s physical so I have something to test the new data against.”
“Is that legal, Enforcer?” Candy queried with a grin.
Charlie turned his attention to Candy and gave her a look that wiped the grin right off her face. “That is the pot-calling-the-kettle-black kind of question from you, Karma,” he said, sharply. “I’d suggest you rethink speaking. It won’t end well… for you.”
I was relieved Charlie didn’t blast Candy with a bolt of lightning. I’d already had the discussion with Gideon about electrocution being off limits in the house. I was not looking forward to having the same conversation with Charlie.
Refocusing on me, Charlie smiled politely. “Daisy, is there anything you’d like me to check while I’m at it?”
“Umm… I think you have it covered,” I said, digesting the word abnormalities. I could tell Charlie right now I was abnormal—no blood test needed.
“After Charlie drains you dry, I have sustenance for you, Daisy,” Tim said, walking over to the coffee table.
“That’s a joke, right?” I choked out.
“It is,” Tim said proudly. “Not many get my jokes like you do.”
“I didn’t,” I muttered under my breath as Charlie chuckled.
Shoving the snazzy hors d’oeuvres over, Tim made room in the very center for his edible offering. I held my breath as he removed the foil. I was pretty sure I was going to have to eat one of whatever he’d brought.
A Most Excellent Midlife Crisis : A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel : Good To The Last Death Book Three Page 15