Whose Midlife Crisis Is It Anyway? : A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel: Good To The Last Death Book Two

by Robyn Peterman

  “My mother died when I was a teenager. My stepfather raised me like I was his own daughter. And I have a stepbrother,” she said flatly. “My stepfather was very ill when I… umm, died.”

  Okay, that was interesting. From the tone of her voice I took it as an important piece of information.

  “Who is searching for you?” I asked.

  “No one if my father died,” she told me, still emotionless. “Possibly the executor of my father’s will.”

  “Father or stepfather?” I asked for clarification. It would be difficult to communicate once I left her mind.

  “Step, but he was my father for all intents and purposes,” she explained as her voice began to grow weaker.

  “Do you know where your bones are?”

  She made a sound that ripped my soul open. I wanted to wrap my arms around her to comfort her, but we were in a place that defied reality and touching wasn’t possible.

  “Kind of,” she choked out. “Off a trail by a waterfall.”

  There was only one waterfall in the area, so I had a decent idea of where she was describing. It was along one of the paths where I ran. Dense woods surrounded the area so finding her bones could be difficult. And what the heck would I do with her bones if or when I found them?

  Shit.

  “Is that where you died?” I asked, not wanting to upset her, but needing to know as much info as she felt comfortable telling me.

  “It is.”

  “And your bones will tell the story?” I pressed, not wanting to screw this up.

  “Yes,” she whispered as her voice began to completely fade away.

  “Lindsay, I know you don’t want me to see what happened, but I can’t hear you anymore,” I said, keeping my voice even and calm. “I need you to remember. I’ll be able to follow that.”

  She made a sound that reminded me of a wounded animal then went silent.

  Pictures raced across my vision so quickly, I couldn’t make them out. It was like an old, static-filled black-and-white TV screen was inside my head. It had been the same with Sam and John. Catching glimpses of a smiling little girl with her mother at a lavish child’s birthday party, I forced myself to relax. I was fully aware the ending would not be happy, but I wanted to see who Lindsay was.

  Scene after scene flashed by of an adorable young Lindsay—on a cruise, at a formal dance, cheerleading at a high school football game. Her laugh was pure and clear. Her smile was beautiful.

  Lindsay had come from a very wealthy family. If the man I was seeing was her stepfather, he seemed to dote on her. Quick starts and stops of family outings flitted by so fast it was hard to make them out.

  “Lindsay, slow down. Let me see,” I told her.

  The screen went to static, and then the ugly parts began to play out.

  “He’s not your father,” a boy of about fourteen hissed at a ten-year-old Lindsay.

  “Yes, he is,” she insisted with tears in her eyes.

  “He’s mine, not yours. Your mother is a stupid whore,” he snarled as he shoved the small girl to the ground.

  “You’re a stupid whore,” Lindsay yelled back, clearly unaware of what the word meant.

  The screen went static again. My stomach began to roil. My imagination went wild with scenarios and I pretty much figured out where we were going. My instinct was to save the little girl, but that was not going to happen. Lindsay was dead. There was nothing I could do to change that.

  What I could do was bring her closure. Hopefully.

  “She’s dead,” a young man of twenty said with a wide smile. “You’re going to get thrown out on the street.”

  “Daddy wouldn’t do that to me,” a teenaged Lindsay snapped.

  “He’s not your daddy,” the young man spat. “Your whore of a mother was a gold digger just like you. You won’t get a penny of my money.”

  “I don’t want your money, asshole,” Lindsay shouted.

  The screen jumped and went to black for a brief moment. I held my breath and waited. Some of the perks of being a Death Counselor were not great. Seeing someone die in order to help them was the most horrifying one.

  “No,” a bruised, battered, and older Lindsay screamed. “Stop. Please stop.”

  “I told you to disappear and you didn’t listen,” the man roared, coming unhinged. “I told you that you would never get a penny of my money and I meant it.”

  “I don’t want your money,” she choked out as blood poured from her mouth and nose. “You can have the money.”

  “Not how it works, bitch,” he hissed as he hit her in the head with some kind of metal rod.

  Picking up a barely conscious Lindsay, he tossed her limp body into the trunk of a very expensive car.

  I took the entire ride with Lindsay in her mind. I gasped as I realized this mind dive was vastly different from the others. Involuntarily—or possibly not—I began to take on Lindsay’s pain. The more I took, the more relaxed she got.

  For a brief second I wondered what I was doing to myself, but an instinct I couldn’t control took over.

  At first the pain burned like a fire, and then it faded to an iciness that I felt in my bones. Dark gray clouds filled the edges of my vision until all I could hear were the gasps of breath coming from my mouth as I tried to take oxygen into my crushed lungs.

  Shit, was I going to die? I couldn’t die. Steve’s afterlife was on the line and I had Gram to think about. Lindsay was already dead. It had happened. It was fact. I could not undo what had been done by taking on her pain.

  And if I died, I couldn’t give her closure.

  With effort that took everything I had, I pulled back and became an observer again. Lindsay convulsed and threw up blood as she was tossed around in the trunk of the car.

  The man who did this would pay. If it was the last thing I ever did, I would make the bastard pay.

  The screen filled with static as Lindsay was pulled from the trunk and beaten to death with a rock as she fought for her life. She scratched at his face and tried to deflect the blows, but she was no match for someone so huge, lethal and filled with greedy rage.

  She did not win.

  Lindsay was left lying in a puddle of her own blood as the son of a bitch drove away. There was a flash of something shiny in her hand, but before I could make out what it was the screen went back to black.

  “Oh my God,” I said. “Lindsay, I am so sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Can you find my bones so they can sing?”

  The truth was that I wasn’t sure. If she had been dead for a year in the forest, there was a chance we wouldn’t find much. However, I’d cross that bridge with her if I ever came to it.

  “Yes,” I said. “I can. I need to think about a few logistics, and I’ll need your help, but yes.”

  “Thank you, Daisy.”

  “You’re welcome, Lindsay.”

  Chapter Eight

  The aftermath of the mind dive was brutal. I’d curled up at the bottom of the bed where Steve was and slept from nine in the evening until noon the next day. Every bone in my body ached and my head felt like it was going to explode.

  Taking on a dead person’s physical pain was now on my What Not To Do list. No matter how much I wanted to help them, it was debilitating. The outcome would remain the same. My suffering would only keep me from what I had to do for the dead.

  I’d let the dogs out before I’d gone to bed and had forgotten to let them back in. Thankfully, it wasn’t too cold out and they were curled up on the porch swing when I went looking for them this morning. The upside to the dog-mom blunder was the lack of poo and pee surprises to greet me when I woke up.

  I hadn’t told Steve about the Lindsay mind dive. He’d worry. He didn’t need any extra stress right now. I could have used someone to lean on, but that was just too damned bad. I’d had someone and I’d sent him away.

  “Lindsay,” I said as I made my coffee drink with an obnoxious amount of chocolate syrup. “I have
an idea about how to find your bones that will kill a lot of birds with one stone.”

  Donna barked and gave me a little growl.

  I smacked myself in the forehead and wanted to go back to bed. I was being incredibly politically incorrect with my squatters.

  “My bad,” I said, shaking my head. “Shouldn’t have said kill. Should have said… umm… Should have said nothing.”

  “S’oookaaay,” Lindsay said, patting my head awkwardly.

  She’d been hovering worriedly above me when I awoke and hadn’t left my side. She’d missed the rule that no ghosts were allowed in my bedroom except Steve. However, to be fair, I hadn’t really laid out the rules to the new group. I’d have to gently tell her the bathroom was off- limits. I did not need her floating around while I took a shower.

  “Hoooooooookaaah,” the little birdie woman hissed as she whipped around the kitchen like a mini dead tornado.

  “Did you just call me a hooker?” I asked, pressing my temples, unable to believe the conversation I was having.

  “Hoooooooookaaah,” she repeated with a cackle that sounded somewhat similar to a cat coughing up a furball.

  “That’s extremely rude,” I chastised her. “If you want my help, you’d better clean up that nasty mouth. You feel me?”

  “Beeeeeeooootch,” Birdie announced before she disappeared in a huff.

  “Lovely,” I muttered as I sat down at the kitchen table and peeled a banana. It was lunchtime, but I’d missed breakfast. “Lindsay, if you went for a run with me, do you think you could find your bones?”

  “Yausssss,” she said, seating herself in the chair across from me.

  My gag reflex had disappeared. When the ghosts had first shown up, I couldn’t eat when they were hanging out. The partial jaws and missing appendages deadened my appetite—pun intended. However, my compassion for my squatters had overcome my gag reflex. It was a seriously good thing that the ghosts had no odor. Not sure I would have been able to overcome that.

  “My plan is a little screwy, but I think it could work,” I said, grabbing a butter knife and slathering some peanut butter on my banana. “However, it’s not illegal, which is an improvement for me.”

  Lindsay giggled. It was slightly off as far as giggles went since she was dead, but it warmed my heart.

  It was the little things that counted most right now.

  “You do what?” Heather asked, looking at me like I’d lost my mind.

  She wasn’t too far off on loss-of-mind assumption, but I found her shock a little much.

  “I mind dive,” I replied, tying my tennis shoes and yanking a fleece hoodie over my head.

  “How?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest and squinting at me.

  I looked at her and grinned. She did not grin back. “A hug.”

  “You hug the dead and dive into their heads?” Heather questioned as she paced my bedroom in agitation.

  “Yep.”

  “Does it happen every time you touch them?”

  “Nope. Just when I hug with intent,” I explained. It would suck if it happened every time I touched a ghost. With the amount of squatter surgery I did, it would be a problem.

  “Daisy, that can’t be a smart thing to do.”

  “Not sure I know the meaning of the word anymore,” I said, stretching my hamstrings and wincing.

  I hadn’t run for real in a week. I wasn’t exactly going on a run right now, but the stretching felt good in a painful way.

  “How do you get out of their heads?” Heather asked, sitting down on the bed next to Steve and observing him carefully.

  “Donna.”

  “What the hell? Donna mind dives too?” Heather asked, clearly shocked as hell.

  I laughed and shook my head. “God, no. She barks and I follow the sound back.”

  Heather sat silently and contemplated what I’d just revealed. She was disturbed, but her curiosity was piqued. “I’ve never heard of this before. Did Gram mind dive?”

  “Nope,” I said. “She wasn’t too happy about the prospect either, but she’s come to accept that I do it my way with my squatters.”

  “How did you figure it out?”

  “Dumb luck,” I replied, wanting the conversation to be over. It was what it was. I was fine—tired, but fine. “With some, the Ouija board won’t work. Lindsay was one of those cases.”

  “I just…” Heather began.

  “You just what?” I asked.

  She was thoughtful for a long moment. “I just don’t know.”

  “Join the club,” I said with a smile, trying to lighten the mood, which was getting too weird for me. “Anything new on the tribunal?”

  “No, but from what I understand, John Travolta is getting close.”

  “You do realize you’re going to call him that by mistake,” I said with a smile as I repeated her warning to me.

  “Already did,” Heather replied, shaking her head and groaning.

  “And?” I asked.

  “Thankfully, he had no clue what I meant.”

  Putting my phone into the pocket of my fleece, I winked at Heather. “I’d be delighted to send him a copy of the movie.”

  “While the thought is amusing, the reality might not be,” she replied, tossing me a hat that Gram had knitted for me.

  “Thanks.” I put it on and glanced down at a very quiet Steve. “You’re good to stay with Steve while I’m gone?”

  “Always,” she replied.

  “Love you,” I told her.

  “Back at you,” Heather said with the first real smile she’d given me since her arrival. “Be careful.”

  “Careful is my middle name,” I replied.

  “No, it’s Leigh,” Heather reminded me with an eye roll.

  “New times, new name.” I waved as I left the room. Although, careful wasn’t accurate. Hellbent on self-destruction might be a better fit, but I was going to do my damnedest to avoid that one.

  “For the love of Jesus in a jockstrap, you had work done, Daisy,” Jennifer insisted as she huffed and puffed her way up a tiny hill on the trail.

  “I did not have any work done,” I told her for the third time.

  “You look ten years younger than you did the other day,” she said, wiping the sweat from her Botoxicated brow. “I just want to know who did your work. It’s fabulous.”

  “No work done,” I repeated.

  “You’re using a new cream?” she asked.

  Jennifer wasn’t going to leave it alone until I gave an answer that satisfied her. I’d barely looked in the mirror in a week. I was exhausted and on the verge of tears at all times. I had no clue what she was seeing. I was a hot mess.

  “I use the drugstore brand of moisturizer,” I told her. “And I wash my face with regular soap.”

  “Are you shitting me?” she shouted as Donna barked and ran up ahead. “Dip, did you hear that shit? Daisy uses soap on her face! I might have just wasted two hundred dollars on the fancy crap from the department store in Atlanta.”

  “Heard it,” Dip said as he brought up the tail end of our little hiking party. “Don’t see a problem with it. I use soap too.”

  Jennifer giggled like a loon and slapped her knee. “Dip is a real comedian.”

  I didn’t exactly agree, but I wasn’t about to speak my thought aloud. Dip was a good man and a nice guy. If Jennifer thought he was funny, then good on both of them.

  Dip grinned from ear to ear at Jennifer’s delight. It was cute and bizarre at the same time. However, if Jennifer was happy. I was happy. Apparently, Jennifer had sampled the cow and enjoyed the milk. When I asked if she and Chief Doody wanted to come on a hike with me, she was all for it.

  I guess the hiking wasn’t a deal-breaker.

  So far, my plan was on track. Lindsay floated about three feet ahead, and I ignored her completely. She was aware of the scheme and on board with her part. Hiking with the chief of police and finding the bones was the best strategy I could come up with without incriminatin
g myself in any way.

  “So, Chief Doody, what kind of soap do you use?” I asked.

  “Whatever’s on sale,” he said with a grin as Jennifer hooted and hollered like a dumb-dumb. “And Daisy, you can call me Dip.”

  “Okay, Dip,” I said with a laugh. “You’re my kind of guy. I get whatever’s on sale too.”

  Jennifer rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Fine, I’ll start using soap,” she muttered. “And I’d like to point out that I’m colder than a penguin’s balls.”

  “That was colorful,” I said, watching Lindsay out of the corner of my eye.

  “Dip, tell Daisy some of the fun facts,” Jennifer begged. “That’ll make up for me being colder than a witch’s tit in a brass bra.”

  “Well, now, I can certainly do that,” Dip said, wrapping an arm around Jennifer to keep her warm as we hiked. “Did you know if you keep your eyes open when you sneeze, you could pop an eyeball out?”

  “Seriously?” I asked, wrinkling my nose. It occurred to me that I hadn’t glued any eyeballs back into a squatter’s head yet. Thankfully, I caught myself before I shared that news with my hiking buddies. That probably wouldn’t have gone over too well.

  “Yep,” Dip confirmed. “And if you ever need to escape from the grip of a crocodile’s jaws, just shove your thumbs into his eyeballs and that sum-bitch will let you go instantly.”

  “Have you tested that theory?” I asked with a wince. Dip’s useless trivia knowledge was even grosser than Jennifer’s.

  “Nope,” Dip said. “And hopin’ I never have to.”

  “I’ve got one,” Jennifer volunteered.

  “Is it gross?” I asked, hoping it was less graphic than her boyfriend’s.

  “You bet it is,” she answered with a laugh as Dip joined her.

  They were a perfect match.

  “Tell us, sweet thing,” Dip said to Jennifer as he kissed the top of her head.

  “A banana slug’s penis grows out of his head,” she announced with great pride.

  I snuck a peek at Dip to see if he was appalled. He wasn’t. Jennifer had definitely found her new man.

  “I believe I can beat that, sweetheart,” Dip told Jennifer with a grin.