Heather shook her head and stepped back to watch me break both of my hands.
Boxing with a tree was wildly gratifying.
Until it wasn’t.
“Oh shit!” Heather screamed as she grabbed me and yanked me back.
We landed on our rear ends in a tangled pile and watched in utter shock as the massive tree swayed and groaned. The thick, skeletal branches twisted and snapped like tiny twigs. The tree seemed to lift its arms to the sky begging for mercy.
“What the fu…” I cried out.
With one last mighty and furious groan, the massive two-hundred-year-old oak swayed and split. It crashed to the ground with an enormous thud, taking out my mailbox and missing my car by inches.
Heather and I sat in freaked-out silence for at least twenty minutes. Even Donna and Karen were subdued and sat quietly beside us.
“I didn’t do that,” I choked out on a whisper.
“I think you did,” Heather said, glancing over at me with concern.
“Not possible.”
“You mean impossible?” she questioned.
“Yes. That’s what I mean,” I said, taking in the carnage.
“Everything is possible—even the impossible,” she said. “You just have to believe.”
“What’s happening to me?” I whispered, looking down at my bloody hands as if they belonged to someone else.
Heather leveled me with a worried stare. “I’m not sure. Maybe we can get some answers tomorrow. In the meantime, I’d suggest you refrain from punching things.”
“Is that a joke?” I asked, closing my eyes and letting my body fall back into the grass. “Because if it is, it sucks.”
“Not a joke,” Heather replied. “I’m deadly serious.”
“Roger that.” I kept my eyes shut. If I opened them, I’d have to see the damage I’d done—the impossible damage I’d done.
“You want more cookies?” Heather asked.
I laughed. The request was absurd, considering that I’d just knocked a two-hundred-year-old tree over by punching it. However, it was also perfect.
“I do,” I replied, sitting up. “At least I didn’t crush my car.”
“There is that,” Heather said, helping me to my feet. “Although, not sure how Tim is going to feel about you demolishing your mailbox. That might be a federal offense.”
“I’m into the illegal stuff.” I gave her a weak grin. “A little federal offense is not a problem. You want to be my lawyer if I get thrown in the pokey?”
“You’re a hot mess, and yes. I will always represent you, Daisy. Let’s go bandage up your hands and eat cookies.”
Right now, it was the little things that definitely mattered most.
Cookies were at the top of that list.
Chapter Ten
“Listen up everyone,” I shouted above the early morning din of the squatters. “First of all, you’re not supposed to be in my bedroom.”
“Hoooooooookaaah,” Birdie screeched as she dove into a basket of clean clothes.
“I’ve had about enough of you,” I snapped, dumping her out of my freshly washed sweats, t-shirts and panties. “You’re a freaking menace.”
“Hoooooooookaaah,” Birdie snapped as she faded away with her middle finger lifted.
“For the love of everything annoying,” I huffed as I put the clean clothes back in the basket. “I’ve been remiss about telling you guys the rules. So, let’s fix that now.”
“Yausssss,” said the large ghost who was the victim of Birdie’s arm-stealing adventure.
He sat down at my desk and tried to pick up a pen to write down the rules. He was my kind of dude. Walking over to him, I patted him on the back when he got upset about his inability to hold a pen.
“It’s okay. No worries,” I said. “I love your organization skills.”
“Yausssss,” he replied, trying to give me a salute and losing his hand in the process.
He started to cry. Well, as much as a semitransparent specter could. His distress pulled at my heartstrings.
Retrieving his hand from the floor and giving it back to him, I then picked up the pen and grabbed a sheet of paper. My hands were still bandaged, swollen and sore. Heather and I were both shocked I hadn’t broken them. There was no logical explanation for yesterday so I decided to block out the fact that I’d knocked over a two-hundred-year-old tree with my fists.
It wasn’t working.
“How about I write down the rules and you can be the Mayor of Squatter Town and remind everyone to follow them?” I asked, focusing on the matter at hand.
“Yausssss. Thaauanuak yooouah,” he said and nodded his large head so vigorously, I was concerned he might lose that as well.
“Mmmkay,” I said as the crowd hovered around me. “The bathroom is a hard no. No one is to set a ghostly foot in there. You feel me?”
There was a chorus of murmured assents.
“Good,” I said as I finished writing it down for the mayor. “Normally, you’re not allowed in the bedroom, but today I’m making an exception.”
The excited applause from my squatters created a sharp wind that blew everything around willy-nilly except the furniture.
“And that right there is one of the reasons why,” I said, hopping up to make sure Steve was okay.
He was. Lindsay sat right next to him and gave me a smile.
“Heeeve fauuiiine,” she told me.
“I can see that Steve’s fine. Thank you, Lindsay.” I sat down next to her. “Honey, if you want to, you can leave and move on. Your brother is going down. I promise you.”
Lindsay nodded and smiled again. It was beautifully horrible.
“Sssiiiiiiinngea booooooouuns. Thaauanuak yooouah, Dausseeeeee.”
“You’re most welcome, Lindsay,” I told her, gently touching her caved-in cheek. “So, no pressure, but when you’re ready to leave it’s fine.”
Truthfully, I didn’t want her to go anywhere. My instinct was to keep her close and protect her.
“Liiiiinsay staaaawauy,” she said, patting my head with one hand and Steve’s with the other. “Taaaawk caaaure oowf Heeeve aawnd Dausseeeeee.”
Clearly, Lindsay had a protective instinct too. The fact that she wanted to take care of Steve and me made me want to cry. The dead were thrilled with the development and zipped around the room cheering like they were at a championship high school football game and their team was kicking some major ass.
“Oh baby,” I said, leaning in to hug her and being careful not to pull off a body part by accident. “That’s probably the sweetest thing anyone has said to me in a very long time.”
“Yausssss,” Steve added, looking at me, and then at Lindsay. “Gooodah guirrul.”
“She is a good girl,” I said, giving Steve a kiss on the top of his head.
“Hoooooooookaaah,” Birdie yelled as she appeared from out of nowhere and scared the bejesus out of me. “Meeeeah heealup toooah.”
“You want to help me?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at the fouled-mouthed little hot mess of a ghost.
“Yausssss, hoooooooookaaah,” she announced with a cackle.
Shaking my head, I laughed. “Well, I suppose I should take help where I can get it,” I muttered as I stood up to get Steve’s approval on my outfit.
When Steve died, I’d stopped caring about myself. I did shower and brush my teeth, but that was about it. When he came back, he was appalled at the way I’d been dressing—had a fit. I hated to admit it, but he’d been correct. Since my fashion flair was iffy and I had something important to do, I ran my outfit past my gay dead husband slash best friend.
“Is this okay?” I asked, making sure I was in his sightline.
I was about to attend a meeting with people who had been alive for thousands of years. They’d been through so many fashion eras it had to be difficult to keep up. After trying on far too many outfits that had gone out of style ten years ago, I settled on a pair of slim black pants, a golden yellow silk shirt that matche
d my eyes, and black pumps. I felt pretty good about my choice. Of course, the hand bandages weren’t all that attractive, but they were necessary.
“Buuuummmmbalah beeeeeee,” Steve announced, much to the amusement of my dead guests.
“Shit,” I muttered, glancing in the mirror. He was right. Black and yellow wasn’t the best color combo. Getting dressed up sucked all kinds of butt. “What the hell should I wear? It’s a business meeting of sorts.”
Birdie flew into my closet and started to shriek. I wasn’t sure if my clothes terrified her or she was trying to lend a hand. Either way, it was slightly unnerving.
“What?” I walked into the closet and found her trying to put on a long-sleeved, black silk, square-neck blouse that still had the tag on it.
“Yausssss, hoooooooookaaah,” she hissed.
Rolling my eyes, I took the shirt, removed the price tag and changed into it. “Better?”
Birdie flipped me off and disappeared. Such a delightful woman.
Checking my watch, my stomach tightened. I needed to leave in twenty minutes. June would be here in five. I didn’t have time for a freaking fashion show.
As I caught a glance of myself in the mirror, I had to admit Birdie—as unpleasant as she was—was correct. I looked put-together and professional. The mayor grunted and pointed to my jewelry box. It was open and waiting. Clearly, the Mayor of Squatter Town had an opinion.
“Okay,” I said with a raised brow. “Which earrings and which necklace?”
Using his detached hand as a pointer, he touched the diamond studs and the teardrop diamond necklace that had been gifts from Steve. I quickly put them all on. The mayor nodded his approval.
“Am I good?” I asked Steve as I got back into his sightline. “I don’t have time to try on much more.”
“Gooooodah,” he said with approval. “Haaaaur doooowun.”
“But I think it looks more professional up,” I told him.
“Naawwwooo,” he disagreed as the dead chimed in with a loud chorus of agreement.
“This is ridiculous,” I griped, taking the pins out of my bun and letting my dark, long, wild hair fall free.
Again, my posse of squatters applauded wildly.
“I’m done,” I said, taking a bow. “My friend June will be here while I’m gone. She can’t see you guys, so no funny business. You all feel me?”
Quickly turning on Survivor in the bedroom to occupy my squatters, I gave Steve another quick kiss on his head.
“I’m gonna get this solved for you, baby,” I told him. “I promise.”
“Looooovah yooooah,” he whispered.
“Love you too.”
“Daisy, you look gorgeous,” June said, wrapping me in a warm hug.
I would have killed to have had someone like June for a mother but having her as a dear friend was almost as good.
“Thank you,” I said, not wanting to let go. I completely understood Charlie’s adoration of June. Everyone loved her. She was all kinds of wonderful, and then some. Not to mention, she baked an amazing cookie.
“You look so lovely you should grab Missy and get some lunch today. Have a good time,” she suggested. “My goodness, what happened to your hands?”
“Umm… wiped out running,” I lied and forced a laugh I hoped didn’t sound as fake as it felt. “No biggie, and thanks, but no lunch date, not today.” I grabbed my dress coat and a purse with a strap that wasn’t frayed. “I have no clue how long this meeting is going to last.”
“Not to worry,” June said, pulling out an upholstery kit from her massive tote. “Charlie has a work meeting today too, and the kids are all out of town. I need a little project and, from what Heather told me, I do believe your couch might be it.”
“It’s pretty bad.” I laughed as Donna and Karen bounded into the room and attacked June with wet doggie kisses.
“Which one of you little furballs is the culprit who did this?” she inquired with a giggle, pointing to the chewed-up section of my sofa.
“While I didn’t see the criminal in action, I’m going to have to go with this one,” I told her, scratching Karen behind her ears and hitting her tickle spot.
Karen’s furry foot slapped the floor as I nailed her favorite spot and Donna did zoomies to impress June. Her laugh rang out in my quiet house, and I noticed a few ghosts float in and gravitate to her. Even the dead adored June.
“Daisy, I’m serious about you having a little fun today. If you want to take a run when you get home, I can stay for that too,” she said, having no clue that she was being worshiped by my dead squatters.
Even Birdie was taken with her. As far as I could tell, Birdie had yet to flip off my dear friend.
“Oh my God,” June said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a huge cookie tin. “Jennifer told me about the hike and finding the body of that poor girl. Must have been awful.”
“Mostly sad,” I said.
“So sad,” June agreed with a sigh then put the tin on the coffee table.
“Are those cookies for me?”
“Well, they’re not for Charlie or me,” she said with a grin. “Our waistlines are a little out of control. We’re starting a diet this week. All my baking has to leave the house. My Charlie has such a sweet tooth. If there’s a sugary treat in the house, he’ll find it.”
“I will happily accept anything you have to offer,” I told her, wondering if Charlie could control his weight like he could control his age. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if he gained pounds on purpose so June never felt bad. “Is Jennifer still upset about seeing the body?”
“No,” June said, pilfering one of her own cookies and taking a bite. “She wants to become a cop now because she said she solved the crime. Can you believe that? I think that Botox fried her brain.”
I laughed and grabbed a big handful of cookies. Maybe I’d give Charlie one…
“Anyhoo,” June went on, stacking her upholstery tools on the table. “Justice was served pretty dang fast on that one.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, startled.
“The killer—who confessed, by the way—got stung by a hive of bees,” she said, shaking her head. “Cops in Atlanta found a big bee’s nest under the mansion that the horrible man lived in. They came up through the heating system and stung him to death—not that I wish death on anyone, but the way he killed his sister was dreadful.”
“How do you know this?” I asked.
We’d only found the bones yesterday. Did karma work that fast?
“I’m not supposed to know,” June whispered so no one would overhear.
“June, we’re alone,” I told her, quickly checking to make sure Lindsay wasn’t within earshot. I would tell Lindsay myself.
She giggled and smacked herself in the forehead. “Whoops! Jennifer told me. She wasn’t supposed to, but she can’t keep her trap shut… and apparently I can’t either.”
“No worries,” I told her. “And not that I’m happy to hear about anyone dying… but that guy? Seems like he had it coming.”
“Agree. He was a very bad man,” June said, checking her watch. “What time do you have to be there? And where are you going anyway? Heather just said it was a meeting. Is it for the firm?”
We all worked as paralegals at Heather’s newly opened law office—June, Jennifer and me.
“Umm… no,” I said, leaning down, wrapping the cookies in a napkin and tucking them into my purse so June wouldn’t see my face. Being a crappy liar wasn’t in my favor at the moment. “It’s a meeting about the settlement from Steve’s death.”
Actually, it was only a partial lie… or a lie of omission. The meeting was indeed about Steve’s death in a roundabout way.
“Oh sweetie.” June hugged me again. “I’m so sorry. Will Heather be with you?”
I nodded, afraid if I said any more the lie would grow, and possibly my nose, as well. After knocking the tree over with my bare hands yesterday, I had no clue what my body was capable of doing. Becoming
Pinocchio would suck hard.
“I have to go,” I said. “Thank you so much for making sure the dogs don’t eat the house.”
“We’ll have a grand old time,” she assured me. “Oh, and sorry about your oak. It was such a lovely old tree.”
Again, I nodded and raced out the front door. Hopefully, one day, there would be nothing in my life that June would have to feel bad about or worry over. I had no clue when that time would come, but I sure as heck hoped it was soon.
Chapter Eleven
“I’m nervous—like high school marching band on speed in my stomach nervous,” I told Heather, noticing a small tear on my purse and flipping it so the good side was showing.
If I had to keep meeting with people who were older than dirt, I was going to have to invest in a new purse. For the love of everything Southern, a forty-year-old woman should own at least one decent bag that wasn’t falling apart. I mentally noted that I needed to up my game or I was going to have to turn in my Southern Gal Card.
Our heels clicked on the highly polished hardwood floor as we made our way down the hallway of the law firm where we both used to be employed.
“Nerves are good,” Heather said. “Keeps you on your toes. Going in casual would be dangerous.”
“Well shit,” I muttered, grabbing her arm and halting her. “I have a few questions.”
“Make them quick,” Heather said, checking her watch.
“Do I look okay?”
Heather clinically examined me from head to toe. With a curt nod, she gave me a thumbs up. “You look like a gorgeous princess from the depths of Hell. All you’re missing are the red eyes, but your gold eyes are a nice angelic touch.”
“Umm… not exactly the look I was going for,” I said as my stomach roiled. A bumblebee might have been a better choice than a demon princess.
“Trust me, a princess all in black who talks to the dead and can take out a tree with a punch is a very good thing right now.”
“Okay,” I said, trying to calm my racing heart. “Am I supposed to speak during the meeting?”
Whose Midlife Crisis Is It Anyway? : A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel: Good To The Last Death Book Two Page 11