Scry Me A River: Suspense with a Dash of Humor (Blood Visions Paranormal Mysteries Book 2)

by Donna White Glaser

  If she remembered correctly, Stan worked second shift. He and Arie had started at BioClean the same week and gone through training together. He'd only stayed a month before deserting to a cushy janitorial job at the hospital, with steady hours and a 401K.

  Arie still had his cell-phone number in her contacts. He answered on the third ring. When she explained what she wanted, Stan was silent for several long moments.

  "If I get caught, I could lose my job," he finally said.

  "I'm not asking for anything more than how she's doing. She's probably been released already. She only had a cut on her nose from the airbag."

  "Then what's the big deal?"

  "Well... when I was holding her hand, she started complaining that her chest hurt. It worried me, you know? She was pretty old and really shook up."

  "So just okay or not okay, huh?"

  "That's it."

  "All right, fine. I'll call you later."

  They hung up, and Arie hurried into the trailer.

  Finally, something was going right.

  They finished the job several long hours later. Arie was looking forward to a nice long, quiet bath that evening—or as quiet as she could get, anyway. She had to figure out how to keep Grumpa from banging on the bathroom door every twenty minutes with up-to-the-minute updates on the condition of his bladder.

  In pursuit of that, she had Grady stop at Taco Bell to buy Grumpa a couple contraband Burrito Supremes as a bribe. That should do the trick.

  It would have, except when Arie walked into the kitchen carrying two paper bags and a cardboard carrier with their pops, she found her mother sitting at the table, Grumpa parked next to her with an expression on his face simultaneously defiant and sheepish.

  Evelyn's refined nostrils flared at the sight and smell of the Tex-Mex food Arie carried. "Well, well, well. I have to say I'm very disappointed"—she turned her icy glare to include her father—"in both of you. Are you trying to kill yourself?"

  Arie cast a furtive how-much-does-she-know glance at Grumpa, but he was staring at the tabletop. "What? This is for me."

  "Two bags and drinks? Don't you think that's a bit much, even for you?" She looked pointedly at Arie's curvy hips.

  "Well, some men like their women curvy." She looked pointedly at her mother's flat chest.

  Grumpa turned his snort into a fake cough.

  Evelyn's eyes narrowed, and her mouth pinched into two Mulberry-Mist-shaded slashes. "I've been speaking with Brant."

  "Oh, of course," Arie said. "I bet he couldn't wait to tattle."

  Arie's older brother had recently fallen from his pedestal straight into the pig slop, so throwing Arie and his grandfather under the bus as a way to reestablish the status quo would be just like him.

  "He's concerned about this arrangement, which I completely understand now that I see it with my own eyes. Originally, your father and I thought the two of you living together would be advantageous to you both. You could attempt to get your financial situation under control, and Father would have someone looking after his care and well-being. But this?" She waved her perfectly manicured fingertips at the fast-food bags. "This just proves what I've suspected all along. I told your father that something didn't feel right. I guess I should be thankful that I didn't walk into a cowboy party with a bunch of loose women."

  "I don't think we have enough food for that," Grumpa mumbled. "But I s'pose Arie could go back for—"

  "Father! I can't believe you would... No, on second thought, I do believe it. And you're not to be blamed."

  Grumpa perked up. "I'm not?"

  "Of course not," Evelyn said.

  Of course not. Arie slapped the Taco Bell bags onto the table and started pulling out the food. The spicy meat and cheese smelled divine. She set Grumpa's portion in front of him, and he snatched the wrapped burritos and his pop and made for the living room.

  "Father!"

  "Can't hear you! Turned my hearing aid off."

  Evelyn's eyebrows furrowed briefly. "He has a hearing aid now? And you didn't think that was important enough for me to know?"

  "Look, I don't know what the problem is here. We're doing fine. He was just at the doctor's last week and got a clean bill of health." Whatever that is.

  "Your eighty-three-year-old grandfather is frequenting rowdy bars and cavorting with women half his age, and now I find you're making medical decisions without me, which is unacceptable." Evelyn lowered her voice. "These sorts of decisions have to go through me. With all this, not to mention the shenanigans your grandfather got himself into with that Internet scammer, it may be high time I start looking into having power of attorney."

  Anger was fighting fear for control of Arie's body.

  "And if all that isn't bad enough—and it is—you're feeding him this... this... swill." Evelyn flipped her hand over Arie's meal.

  Anger won. Arie took a huge bite of her chalupa, letting the sour cream dribble down her chin. "It's really good, Ma. It's like a fiesta in my mouth. You should relax, party a little."

  Flash.

  Dark. Phyl is swaying by herself to The Platters’ "The Great Pretender" while I make my way across the office, trying to find Carley Horse's minifridge to fix us a couple drinks. Phyl laughs when I stumble into the metal wastebasket. Nearly broke my goldarn neck, and all the silly heifer can do is giggle like a ninny and dance with her imaginary friend. She probably thinks it's sexy. Never used to have to work so hard to get laid. Shoulda brought Viv. If only she weren't such a drippy romance junkie. At least Phyl knows how to party.

  Light flared inside Arie's head again as the vision showed her a minifridge door swinging open, showing her several bottles of generic colas and fruit juices. A small, opaque bottle of pink liquid with a prescription label. A takeout box of Chinese food. A thin, wrinkled hand reaches for a bottle of orange juice.

  Ah, there we go. I can always count on Carly Horse to supply the mixer. I'd love to see her holier-than-thou face if she knew what we're up to in her office. On her desk!

  A familiar refrain from Arie's childhood broke through the vision.

  "Are you listening to me, young lady?"

  Uh, no. A horny dead guy was bitching about his love life in my head.

  "Of course I heard you," Arie lied as usual.

  "Then you agree?"

  Darn it. "Um, I'm not sure I do. Maybe we could think about it? And... you know... talk about it some more?" Whatever "it" is.

  Evelyn sighed. "There's nothing to think about. Either you find more age-appropriate activities for Father and get him on a proper meal plan, or we'll have to come up with a very different arrangement. This can't go on." She rose from the table and smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from her beige skirt. Evelyn's skirts knew better than to wrinkle.

  "Ma, it's not that easy. And what's inappropriate about dancing? It's good exercise, and—"

  "How many times have I asked you not to call me 'Ma?' If he wants to prance around, he can take ballroom-dance classes at the tech college. But for him to be out all hours of the night, running around some sleazy bars, is unacceptable. I can't imagine what people would think. And square dancing? It's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." Her nose crinkled in disgust.

  "Line dancing, not square dancing," Arie muttered.

  "Find something appropriate to keep him busy and out of trouble." Evelyn made her way to the door. "I'll be checking in on you two later in the week. We're not done here, young lady."

  The door clicked shut behind her. Arie debated thunking her head on the table, but instead, she finished off her now-cold food.

  Grumpa poked his head into the kitchen just as she swallowed the last bit of fried flatbread. "Is she gone?"

  "Yes, but she's coming back next week to check on us. Did she ever talk to you about power of attorney?"

  Grumpa's face creased with anger. "Oh heck no. That ain't happening. I'm not some helpless, doddering old fool."

  "Yeah, well, she's ticked off about your dancing and ho
w you've been eating. We have to make changes, or else."

  "Or else what?" Grumpa said.

  "Or else in addition to getting power of attorney over your scrawny butt, she'll come up with a 'very different arrangement.'" Arie twitched air quotes over the last three words.

  For a split second, Grumpa looked distraught. Then he burped. "So, what's that supposed to mean? I'm finally getting rid of you? What's the downside here?"

  "Yeah, exactly. You'll be getting rid of me, and I'll be getting rid of you. And you'll go live in some old folks' home where you can..."

  Well, now there's an idea.

  "Nobody's sticking me with a bunch of cranky old farts who can't remember how to tie their own shoes. This is my home, and I'm staying right here."

  Arie eyed her grandfather warily. If what she was considering had any chance of working, he was going to have to cooperate with her. A headache started building behind her left eye. Her grandfather was not overly familiar with the concept of cooperation. Not overly fond of it, either.

  "I've got an idea," she said.

  Grumpa grabbed the food bags and dug around inside one. "Did you even bother to get dessert? If I'm going to be kidnapped from my own home just because you brought home a bunch of fast food, then I deserve some dessert."

  "There isn't any. Now, listen to me, Grumpa. I've got an idea."

  Her grandfather pooched his bottom lip at her. He'd ditched his teeth sometime between getting his burrito and coming back into the kitchen. Arie shuddered to think where he might have plunked them down. He had a habit of leaving them on the arm of the couch, where they frequently slipped off and ended up biting her on the butt when she sat down to watch TV.

  "What's your big idea, then?"

  "There's a place called River Rest Senior Center. It's kind of like an activity cen—"

  "River Rest?" Grumpa sputtered. "Why don't they just call it 'Come Here and Die'? You're not going to get me in one of those day-care-for-grannies death traps."

  "It's not a death trap. I was just there the other day. It was nice and sunny. They do things like—"

  "And what were you doing there, missy? Trying to get rid of me, huh? And then what? Think you're going to steal my house out from under me? You two are in it together, aren't you?"

  "What? No. I was just as surprised as you were to see Ma today. You heard her say Brant told her. He's always been a tattletale. You act like you're surprised that Ma's flipping out when she hears you're Boot Scootin' Boogying all night with a bunch of barflies."

  "Then if you weren't there trying to find out how to get rid of me, what were you doing at one of them places?"

  "Uh... I was there for a job."

  "Death trap!" Grumpa threw the empty bags into the trash and stomped out of the room.

  "Go put your teeth in," Arie shouted at his skinny behind. "We're not done here, old man."

  Oh geez. She was turning into her mother.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Arie didn't have another job the next day, which was always worrisome for her. Grady lived in his parents' basement and was trying to write a fantasy trilogy involving werebears that ate secret mushrooms and gained superpowers. He didn't mind a day off now and then. The problem was she never had any way of knowing how long the dry spell would last. Not too long, Arie hoped, since she also had no idea what or when the insurance company was going to determine anything regarding her car. Grady told her it would probably be totaled, but she couldn't believe a crushed fender and a couple exploded airbags would be that catastrophic.

  At least having a day off gave Arie time to work on Grumpa. Rather, since he kept covering his ears and singing "la, la, la" every time she tried to speak to him, she had time to come up with a plan to change his mind. She suspected doing so would take more than fast food.

  The visions weren't giving her any slack, either, despite the fact that she was attempting to "do something." If anything, they and the accompanying migraines were growing worse.

  She was still waiting for Stan to call back, too. She'd expected he would call after he got off work, and she stayed up late just in case, but the phone didn't ring until right as she was getting in the shower the next morning. Even though she knew Stan couldn't see her, she felt weird talking to a former coworker while she was buck naked. She turned the running water off before she accepted the call so that he wouldn't be tempted to imagine her in her current state.

  "Hey, took you long enough," Arie said. She kept her tone light even though her head was pounding like an irritated judge's gavel.

  "Yeah, well, I didn't want to call from work."

  "Oh, sure. I understand."

  "Fine. Listen, sorry to say, but she didn't make it."

  Arie's brain stuttered to a stop. "She... What?"

  "She didn't make it. She died. Heart."

  Arie leaned against the counter, her knees suddenly weak. "She died? Sheila Becket. Are you sure?"

  "Sure, I'm sure. But, hey, you said she ran a red light. Maybe she was having a heart attack then, you know? Would make sense."

  That did make sense, and it matched what Sheila herself had indicated, but unfortunately, it didn't erase the overwhelming guilt Arie felt. Logic hardly ever trumped emotion.

  Sheila Becket is dead? Tears streamed down Arie's face, and she sat on the edge of the tub. She didn’t care that the woman had run the red light or even that she might have been having heart trouble before the accident instead of as a result of it. Arie had no way of finding that out, anyway.

  But wait . . .

  Her eyes darted to the laundry hamper, where she'd stuffed her clothes the night of the accident. Her bloody clothes. Sheila Becket's blood.

  Arie called Chandra and made a request. Within the hour, Chandra arrived with the item Arie had asked her to bring, as well as sustenance, breakfast from Java Hut. She and Arie darted into her bedroom to keep Grumpa from mooching their food. They plopped onto the bed, and Chandra shared out their breakfast.

  "I've got dibs on the Loaded Oatmeal," she said. "I need the fiber. You wouldn't believe how long it's been since I—"

  "La, la, la, la!" Arie said. Oh geez. I’m turning into Grumpa now. "I'll take the croissant sandwich, thank you."

  "Good choice. Bacon and cheese makes everything better."

  "Truth," Arie said through a full mouth.

  "So what do you want to talk about first? Connor, the elusive, confusing stud, or the elderly crash victim?"

  The croissant stuck in Arie's throat. She took a drink from the bottle of OJ before answering. "Definitely the elderly crash victim."

  "Okay, then." Chandra pulled out the crystal ball that Arie sometimes used to help the visions along when she didn't have access to a lot of the person's blood. "But are you sure you want to do this? Didn't you say she might have been having a heart attack even before the crash? Why are you taking this on yourself?"

  "Because maybe I could have avoided it. I mean, sure, my light was green, but I'd been having Bernie visions all day. They just keep..." Arie waved a hand around her head as though shooing mosquitoes away. "I have to do something. And apparently, just telling Connor isn't enough. He acted like I was nuts, anyway."

  "Really? I thought he already knew about all this."

  Arie sighed. "He did. He said he would do what he could."

  "Well, there you go. That doesn't sound like he thinks you're nuts. Even if you are."

  "Maybe not, but it also doesn't sound like he's going to be able to help. That's probably why the visions keep coming. And now my mother's on the warpath, and she's going to stick Grumpa in a home and kick me out on the street."

  "I doubt that. It would cause a lot more problems to do either one. Strange as it seems, this little domestic arrangement appears to be working out for both of you."

  A sudden banging on the door made both women jump. "You've got food in there, you stingy little grubs! I can smell it."

  Speak of the devil...

  Chandra rapidly shoveled
the last of her oatmeal into her mouth. "Mmph we don't!"

  The doorknob rattled fiercely, but Arie had locked it.

  "You're trying to starve me to death, aren't you? Wait 'til my Evelyn hears about this one. You're not going to get away with this."

  Arie sprang from the bed and threw the door open. "Go ahead and tell her. That'll make her even more determined to put you in a nice retirement facility, and I'll be out on my own again. Is that what you want?"

  Grumpa stood in the doorway, looking a little befuddled at the change in the usual style of argument. Direct confrontation and truth were rarely a part of their relationship dynamic.

  "Well, is it?" Arie asked. "Because that's what's going to happen if you don't start cooperating with me."

  Grumpa scowled. "How is what you're asking me to do any different than what your mother is trying to do? You're both trying to stick me in with a bunch of crusty old farts like I'm... I'm..."

  "A crusty old fart?" Chandra contributed. "Hate to say it, but you are."

  "Nobody asked you," he shot over Arie's shoulder.

  "And really cranky too," Chandra muttered.

  "Of course I'm cranky. I'm starving, aren't I?" Grumpa turned back to his granddaughter. "And all you're doing is sitting in here playing hocus-pocus with That Girl." He waved a hand at Chandra and the crystal ball balanced by her knee. "So don't think you're going to sweet-talk me into toddling off into the sunset anytime soon."

  "Nobody's trying to sweet-talk you into anything. I'm only trying to do what's best for you and me both. If you'd just listen—"

  "Listen to what? To your plan to steal my house and all my money?"

  "Oh yeah. All your money." Arie snorted. "You're obviously rolling in it. But if you get stuck in a nursing home, you can kiss all 'your money'"—she twitched air quotes over the last two words—"goodbye. It'll all go to the nursing home, and they'll probably sell the house too. And all because you're too stubborn for your own good. Now, if you'll excuse me, my friend and I are going to finish our breakfast." She shut the door firmly.

  Chandra flopped back on the bed and hooted. "I've been waiting for you to do that for months."