Decluttered and Dead

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  He showed me the lump on the back of his head. “The woman’s pretty strong for her age. Dylan told me she said she smacked me with an encyclopedia. I’d left the library, but I just didn’t feel right about leaving you there. You seemed…I don’t know, stoned or something, and I felt bad leaving you like that. So, I went back in and the next thing I knew, Billy Ray was offering me a cup of sweet tea and a Band-Aid.”

  I laughed. “That’s Billy Ray for you. Listen, I owe you an apology. I actually thought—”

  He cut me off. I know. It’s okay. We’re good.”

  “You sure?”

  He nodded. “I would have thought the same thing.” He flicked his head toward the family room. “She’s in there. She’s got some exciting news for you, too.”

  I raised an eyebrow, but William didn’t say anything more, he just led me to the family room.

  Caroline was sprawled out on the couch with a glass of Coke® and a bag of boiled peanuts. When she saw me, she set the glass on the table and jumped up, sending the peanuts flying into the air. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Look at what I did.”

  I laughed. “You never were the cleanest girl in the house, were you?”

  She stared at me, and we were both silent for a moment, and then we rushed to each other, crying.

  “I’m so sorry, Lily. I know I already apologized, but I was just so ugly, and you didn’t deserve that. I did not mean any of what I said. My hormones have just been a mess, and I didn’t know what came over me, but now I do, and it all makes sense.” She let go and smiled. “I’m having a baby.”

  My eyes nearly popped out of my head. “You’re—a baby? Oh, Caroline, that’s fantastic!”

  She jumped up and down and hugged me again. “Oh honey, it’s just the most amazing thing, isn’t it? William is over the moon, he’s so excited.”

  “So, you and William? You’re okay?”

  William interrupted. “We’re better than okay.” He smiled. “Here, let me show you something.” I followed them into the den. Sitting on the couch were two large canvas paintings. One wasn’t finished, but the other was. Both were of William and Caroline—one on their wedding day at the church, and the other the day they got engaged, at the bridge, and both with Heather’s signature in the bottom right corner.

  “William was the client Heather told me about,” Caroline said. “The one that was paying her the big bucks for the paintings.” She held up the finished painting, the one of the bridge. “This is my favorite. Not because it’s finished, but because it’s where I knew our lives were changed forever, right William?”

  He smiled. “It’s where she knew I truly loved her.”

  “He’s right. I knew.” She handed him the painting and rubbed her belly. “And now with this little one on the way, we’ve got even more love to share, and more changes to come.”

  “You sure do,” I said.

  “And this time, Lilybit, I want you to be more involved. No matter how busy you are, I’m going to need my girlfriends around. You hear me?”

  I heard her loud and clear, and I planned to be there every step of the way. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And I promise I will be just as involved as you because it takes two to make a friendship work. Someone very smart told me that.”

  We spent two hours talking about Heather and how we planned to memorialize her. Savannah did come up, and I felt it was best to just leave well enough alone.

  “I need to tell you something, Caroline.” I wanted to apologize for thinking she could have murdered our friends.

  She waved her hand, formed it into a fist and then pressed it to her mouth. “None of that matters now. It’s time to move on.” She rubbed her belly again. “We have a future to plan.”

  I realized in that moment she was right. The past didn’t matter. I had a future to plan, too, and I intended to move toward that future that night at dinner.

  * * *

  I had two hours to prepare. Time was tight, but I could make it happen. I dropped Bo off with Belle for the evening, hit the grocery store and headed home. I set the table on my patio, hung my new string lights over the pergola, prepared Dylan’s favorite appetizers; buffalo chicken dip—not at all romantic, but still yummy, and chips and salsa—and hopped into the shower. I left my hair curly, applied just a smidgen of makeup, and stepped into my blue and white floral sundress, the one he’d whistled at when he saw me in it the first time. I even put on a pair of heels. It was a big night, and I needed my big guns to hit the target.

  When he knocked on my front door, I hollered that it was open and to come on in. I wasn’t in the kitchen, though. I’d been in the family room, waiting.

  “Lily? It’s me. You shouldn’t let anyone in without knowing who it is. You never—” He walked into the family room and stopped talking when he saw me standing there. “Oh.”

  I smiled. “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  Everything I’d planned to say, everything I’d planned to do, I’d completely forgotten. It all left my brain the minute he walked into the room. His smile, his sparkling eyes, his sexy little slanted stance, it all erased my plan and instead, words rushed out of me like I was some blubbering idiot. “I’m sorry. I’ve been such a jerk. You haven’t done a thing wrong.”

  His eyes softened, and the sides of his mouth curled into the sweetest smile I’d ever seen. I dug my feet into the floor to stop myself from climbing over the table to hug him. It didn’t matter though, because he came to me and wrapped me in his arms.

  “I’m sorry, too. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t trust me to be here, to love you.”

  “I can. I do. It’s not you, it’s me.”

  He laughed and then pushed me away. “That’s a classic break up line. Are you sure you’re not still breaking up with me?”

  “I thought I already did that the other day?”

  “Ouch.”

  “So, I guess we’re even now?”

  “If you’re trying to apologize, you’re not doing a very good job.” He winked.

  I pressed my lips together. “Oh, whoops.”

  “Like I told you before, I’m not leaving Bramblett County, Lily. I’m not leaving you. This is my home. You’re my home. I came back here to be with you.”

  I backed away and walked to the other side of the couch. “I don’t know, Dylan. I mean, I’m not sure you’re the one for me.”

  His mouth dropped open. “What? How can you say that?”

  I tapped my finger on my chin. “I just…I’m not sure. I need someone special. You know, a knight in shining armor, and I’m just not sure it’s you.” I tried hard not to smile, but the sides of my mouth edged upward anyway.

  Dylan crept closer. “I think I might know a way to find out.”

  “You do?”

  “I do.” His face nearly touched mine.

  “Care to share?”

  He smiled and whispered, “Ribbit.”

  THE END

  Signed, Sealed and Dead

  A Lily Sprayberry Realtor Mystery

  will be released in mid to late October.

  Watch for

  The Scarecrow Snuff Out

  A Lily Sprayberry Halloween Novella

  to be released near Halloween!

  Read on for Chapter One of

  Unfinished Business

  An Angela Panther Mystery

  To be notified of future releases and receive a free copy of Unbinding Love An Angela Panther Mystery Novella, visit carolynridderaspenson.com

  Follow Carolyn at

  Carolynridderaspenson.com

  Facebook

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to my wonderful editor, Jen, my favorite proofreader, JC Wing, my favorite beta reader, Lynn Shaw, and my friends and family who’ve supported me as I’ve traveled along this writing journey.

  About The Author

  Carolyn Ridder Aspenson currently calls the Atlanta suburbs home, but can't rule out her other two homes, Indianapolis and som
ewhere in the Chicago suburbs.

  She is old enough to share her empty nest with her husband, two dogs and two cats, all of which she strongly obsesses over repeatedly noted on her Facebook and Instagram accounts, and is working on forgiving her kids for growing up and leaving the nest. When she is not writing, editing, playing with her animals or contemplating forgiving her kids, she is sitting at Starbucks listening in on people's conversations and taking notes, because that stuff is great for book ideas.

  On a more professional note, she is the bestselling author of the Angela Panther cozy mystery series featuring several full-length novels and novellas as well as a collection of romantic novellas.

  Other Books By

  Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  Unfinished Business An Angela Panther Mystery

  Unbreakable Bonds An Angela Panther Mystery

  Uncharted Territory An Angela Panther Mystery

  Unexpected Outcomes An Angela Panther Mystery

  Unbinding Love An Angela Panther Mystery Novella

  The Christmas Elf An Angela Panther Holiday Short

  The Ghosts An Angela Panther Holiday Short

  The Event An Angela Panther Mystery Novella

  Undetermined Events An Angela Panther Mystery Novella

  The Inn at Laurel Creek

  Zoe & Daniel’s Story: The Inn at Laurel Creek

  Santa’s Gift A Cumming Christmas Novella

  Authors Need Love!

  If you enjoyed this book then I’d really appreciate it if you would post a short review Amazon. You can do so here: http://bit.ly/Declutteredanddead

  Read on for a sneak peek into

  Unfinished Business

  An Angela Panther Mystery

  Unfinished Business

  An Angela Panther Mystery

  CHAPTER ONE

  The air in the room felt frigid and sent an icy chill deep into my bones. Searching for comfort, I lay on the rented hospice bed, closed my eyes, and snuggled under Ma’s floral print quilt. I breathed in her scent, a mixture of Dove soap, Calvin Klein Eternity perfume and stale cigarettes. The stench of death lingered in the air, trying hard to take over my senses, but I refused to let it in. Death may have taken my mother, but not her smell. Not yet.

  “You little thief, I know what you did now.”

  I opened my eyes and searched the room, but other than my Pit Bull, Greyhound mix Gracie, and me, it was empty. Gracie sensed my ever so slight movement, and laid her head back down. I saw my breath, which wouldn’t have been a big deal except it was May, in Georgia. I closed my eyes again.

  “I know you can hear me, Angela. Don’t you ignore me.”

  I opened my eyes again. “Ma?”

  Floating next to the bed, in the same blue nightgown she had on when she died, was my mother, or more likely, some grief induced image of her.

  “Ma?" I laughed out loud. “What am I saying? It’s not you. You’re dead.’

  The grief induced image spoke. “Of course I’m dead, Angela, but I told you if I could, I’d come back. And I can so, tada, here I am.”

  The image floated up in the air, twirled around in a few circles and floated back down.

  I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to right my brain or maybe shake loose the crazy, but it was pointless because when I opened my eyes again, the talking image of my mother was still there.

  “Oh good grief, stop it. It’s not your head messing with you, Angela. It’s me, your Ma. Now sit up and listen to me. This is important.”

  As children we’re conditioned to respond to our parents when they speak to us. We forget it as teenagers, but somewhere between twenty and the birth of our first child, we start acknowledging them again, maybe even believing some of what they tell us. Apparently it was no different when you imagined their ghost speaking to you, too. Crazy maybe, but no different.

  I rubbed my eyes. “This is a dream, so I might as well go with it."

  I sat up, straightened my back, plastered a big ol’ smile on my face, because it was a dream and I could be happy the day my mom died, in a dream and said, “Hi Ma, how are you?”

  “You ate my damn Hershey bars."

  “Hershey bars? I dream about my dead mother and she talks about Hershey bars. What is that?”

  “Don’t you act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, Angela."

  “But I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ma.” I shook my head again and thought for sure I was bonkers, talking to an imaginary Ma.

  “Oh, for the love of God, Angela, my Hershey bars. The ones I hid in the back of my closet.”

  Oh. Those Hershey bars, from like, twenty years ago, at least. The ones I did eat.

  “How do you know it was me that ate your Hershey bars? That was over twenty years ago.”

  The apparition smirked. “I don’t know how I know, actually. I just do. I know about all of the stuff you did, and your brothers too. It’s all in here now.” She pointed to her, slightly transparent head and smirked.

  She floated up to the ceiling, spun in a circle, and slowly floated back down. “And look, I’m floating. Bet you wish you could do that, don’t you, Angela? You know, I’d sit but I tried that before and fell right through to the damn basement. And let me tell you, that was not fun. It was creepy, and it scared the crap outta me. And oh, Madone, the dust between your two floors! Good Lord, it was nasty. You need to clean that. No wonder Emily’s always got a snotty nose. She’s allergic.”

  “Emily does not always have a snotty nose.” She actually did but I wasn't going to let Ma have that one.

  The apparition started to say something, then scrutinized at the bed. “Ah, Madone, that mattress. That was the most uncomfortable thing I ever slept on, but don’t get me started on that. That’s a conversation for another time.”

  Another time?

  “And I hated that chair.” She pointed to the one next to the bed. “You should have brought my chair up here instead. I was dying and you wanted me to sit in that chair? What with that uncomfortable bed and ugly chair, my back was killing me.” She smiled at her own joke, but I sat there stunned, and watched the apparition’s lips move, my own mouth gaping, as I tried to get my mind and my eyes to agree on what floated in front of me.

  “Ah, Madone. Stop looking at me like that, Angela Frances Palanca. You act like you’ve never seen a ghost.”

  “Ma, I haven’t ever seen a ghost, and my name is Angela Panther, not Palanca. You know that.” My mother always called me Angela Palanca, and it drove both my father and me batty. She said I was the closest thing to a true Italian she could create, and felt I deserved the honor of an Italian last name. She never liked Richter, my maiden name, because she said it was too damned German.

  “And that recliner of yours was falling apart. I was afraid you’d hurt yourself in it. Besides, it was ugly, and I was sort of embarrassed to put it in the dining room.” I shook my head again. “And you’re not real, you’re in my head. I watched them take your body away, and I know for a fact you weren’t breathing, because I checked.”

  Realizing that I was actually having a discussion with someone who could not possibly be real, I pinched myself to wake up from what was clearly some kind of whacked-out dream.

  “Stop that, you know you bruise easily. You don’t want to look like a battered wife at my funeral, do you?”

  Funeral? I had no intention of talking about my mother’s funeral with a figment of my imagination. I sat for a minute, speechless, which for me was a huge challenge.

  “They almost dropped you on the driveway, you know.” I giggled, and then realized what I was doing, and immediately felt guilty, for a second.

  Ma scrunched her eyebrows and frowned. “I know. I saw that. You’d think they’d be more careful with my body, what with you standing there and all. There you were, my daughter, watching them take away my lifeless, battered body, and I almost went flying off that cart. I wanted to give them a what for, and believe me, I tried, but I felt strange, all
dizzy and lightheaded. Sort of like that time I had those lemon drop drinks at your brother’s wedding. You know, the ones in those little glasses? Ah, that was a fun night. I haven’t danced like that in years. I could have done without the throwing up the next day, though, that’s for sure.”

  Lifeless, battered body? What a dramatic apparition I’d imagined.

  I sat up and rubbed my eyes and considered pinching myself again, but decided the figment was right, I didn’t want to be all bruised for the funeral.

  There I sat, in the middle of the night, feeling wide awake, but clearly dreaming. I considered telling her to stay on topic, seeing as dreams didn't last very long, and maybe my subconscious needed my dream to process her death but I didn't. “This is just a dream." I tried to convince myself the apparition wasn’t real.

  She threw her hands up in the air. “Again with the dreaming. It’s not a dream, Angela. You’re awake, and I’m here, in the flesh.” She held her transparent hand up and examined it. “Okay, so not exactly in the flesh, but you know what I mean.”

  This wasn’t my mother, I knew this, because my mother died today, in my house, in this bed, in a dining room turned bedroom. I was there. I watched it happen. She had lung cancer, or, as she liked to call it, the big C. And today, as her body slowly shut down, and her mind floated in and out of consciousness, I talked to her. I told her everything I lacked the courage to say before, when she could talk back and acknowledge my fear of losing her. And I kept talking as I watched her chest rise and fall, slower and slower, until it finally stilled. I talked to her as she died, and because I still had so much more to say, I kept talking for hours after her body shut down. I told her how much I loved her, how much she impacted my life. I told her how much she drove me absolutely crazy, and yet I couldn’t imagine my life without her.