Ghost Trippin'

by Cherie Claire

  I laugh the thought off, grab my plate, and thank Christina profusely, wave to Reece as I head back to my apartment. Stinky’s waiting at the door and we head inside, me placing the food on the kitchen counter while he tackles the kitty litter box.

  “You couldn’t do that outside?”

  I begin to pace, thinking back on the night of the dance-off. We used protection but I only remember TB pulling one condom from his suitcase. Did he have others? I look at the calendar and count backwards from the month before. My period was due yesterday, but I’m not regular so being a day late wouldn’t be cause for alarm. My approaching period might account for my sore breasts and the queasiness. But then, I never felt this tired or sickly before a period, only when I was pregnant.

  I sit down on the edge of the bed and let loose a few cuss words. Stinky wanders back into the main room, studying me as I pull my hands through my hair. I decide there’s only one way to find out. I pull out my phone and call TB. I get his voice mail instantly and scream through the instructions. Once I hear the beep, I tell him tersely, “TB, I need to talk to you. I know we’re seeing each other on Thursday but I need to talk to you. Today. Call me.”

  I hang up and throw the phone down on the bed. I’m so frustrated at the man.

  “Why doesn’t he call me back?” I yell at Stinky, who gives me a look and then begins cleaning his paw. “What?” I ask him, because I feel like the cat’s reprimanding me.

  It’s then that the messages page lights up on my cell, now that my phone call to TB is complete. A long list of unopened voice mails from Tabitha stares back at me.

  “Crap.”

  What a hypocrite I am, I think. She’s been calling for days. Stinky rises, does a back curl and sends me a smug look.

  “Okay, I get it.”

  I punch in Tabitha’s number and she answers on the first ring. “Well, look who’s finally graced me with a phone call.”

  I winch. “I’m so sorry, Tabitha. It’s been a horrible two weeks trying to figure out what happened to my dad. But that’s no excuse. I’m really sorry.”

  Unless, of course, it’s about her stupid tiara.

  “If you’d taken the time to call me, Vi, I might have been able to help.”

  I don’t see how, but I apologize again. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

  “It’s about my tiara.”

  I can’t help it but I groan. Loudly.

  “I knew you’d react this way,” she says defensively.

  “I told you, Tabitha, I’ll come to your Carnival ball.”

  “It’s not about the Carnival ball!” Now, she’s practically shouting and I regret my earlier reaction. But really, a tiara?

  I rub my forehead because after finding my father dead, tracing his footsteps to find more dead bodies, solving a drug case and murder, and loving a man only to have him leave me possibly pregnant is getting the best of me. But I inhale and let it out slowly to calm myself. “What’s it about, Tabitha?”

  I can hear her doing the same. “I never had powers like the rest of you. I always wanted to be special like you and Mimi and other people in the family. Did you know my sister can decode dreams?”

  “No, I….”

  “Everyone thinks all I care about is clothes and social activities but that’s not true. Although I am incredibly good with fashion.” She pauses for a second. “Maybe that’s my special talent.”

  “I know you have amazing taste in clothes, Tabitha, but I doubt that’s a psychic trait.”

  She huffs. “I know, Vi. I always wanted to predict the future. Thought that would help with Jerry’s real estate career.”

  “It’s not like that, Tabitha….”

  “But I wasn’t blessed with a magical talent like y’all were.”

  This gets my dander up. “I wouldn’t call this a talent. Especially after the last two weeks I just had.”

  “Weeks that might have been easier if you would have called me back.”

  I exhale again, trying to make sense of this conversation. “And what? You would solve my father’s murder with a tiara?”

  Silence follows and I know I’ve hurt her feelings. But I haven’t said anything illogical. What would a tiara possibly have to do with my father’s death?

  “You know what, Vi,” she starts and I can tell she’s crying, “just forget it.”

  “Tabitha, please….”

  “Forget I ever called.” And with those final words, she hangs up.

  I hold the phone in my lap, staring at the Alabama number as it fades into black. My stomach roils — a discomfort that ping pongs from hunger to nausea — and somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind I know I’m with child. My life of late would never miss a chance to throw that curveball at me.

  I glance at Stinky who’s sitting up straight as if he’s waiting for me to make a move. I check my watch. Nine a.m. I can get there by dusk.

  I close my eyes and let my essence connect with the Tao of the universe and try — try — to make sense of my crazy cousin and her tiara. Of course, nothing of substance comes to mind but the message I do receive arrives loud and clear.

  I pull out a bag and fill it with three days of clothes and underwear, then grab my car keys and purse. “Come on Stinky,” I say and he beats me to the door. “We’re going to Alabama.”

  It takes me hours — but less than I expected due to the calm before the Thanksgiving storm — to reach the Alabama Welcome Center. Two of the big-haired volunteer ladies greet me like an old friend.

  “Y’all remember me?” I ask.

  “Sure do, honey,” says the one with the giant red glasses. “Since you’ve been here, we now know where Ishka is.”

  The two huddle over the map and give me expert directions and I politely listen, even though I now know the way. They pour me a cup of coffee and slip me a napkin full of cookies.

  “Don’t tell anyone,” the dark-haired lady says. “We’re not this nice to everyone.”

  I smile and assure them mums the word. “But I suspect you’re this nice to the world.”

  The women grin shyly and one gives a wave of the hand. I sign the guest book and write how wonderful the volunteers are in this neck of the woods.

  “Y’all need a raise,” I say, and they all laugh.

  Stinky and I get back on the road, text Tabitha that we’re on our way, and hit Ishka after forty-five minutes. I take the route before Silas this time, bypassing the bait shop and hitting that nice blacktop Tabitha was so proud of. By the time I reach the homestead, the sun lingers on the horizon casting the day’s last rays while shadows fall across the yard. I park and gaze at twilight’s magic but a shiver runs up my spine. What will I find here? What answers could possibly rest inside Grandma Willow’s old home?

  And just what on earth does a Carnival tiara have to do with anything?

  I let Stinky out and he immediately explores the yard, stretching his claws on a pecan tree. I head inside and call out like before, but once again receive no answer. I gaze around the living room, remembering how Dad appeared to me and I mistook his image to be real. Of course, I was sleeping but his conversation was so clear. He never considered his death, was worried about me.

  I fall into the oversized chair and let the tears fall. Now that I think about it, all his conversations seemed to be about shortcomings, his regrets, and his concern for his family. I can’t help but wonder why, since Mimi assured me the dead rest in love and peace.

  I close my eyes and will his image to appear but nothing happens and I weep softly.

  “Dad, where are you?”

  The front screen door opens and closes, then the front door. I feel Stinky scamper in and nestle against my leg. I know my cat owns special talents like many of us in the Willow-Halsey family but moving a door isn’t one of them. I open my eyes to find my well-dressed cousin standing before me, tiara on her perfectly coifed hair.

  “Really Tabitha?”

  She exhales loudly and looks at the ceiling, sha
kes her head. “Why doesn’t anyone take me seriously?”

  I wipe the tears from my cheeks and can’t help but laugh. “Might be the tiara on your head. Have you taken it off since I left?”

  Tabitha doesn’t smile, looks toward the kitchen. “Mimi has bourbon in here, doesn’t she?” And with that sentence heads off.

  The sun’s disappeared and darkness blankets the living room as a chill descends. I turn on a couple of lights and start a fire. Tabitha returns with the Jack Daniels and is helping herself to the whiskey behind me, watching as I perform tasks learned in Girl Scout camp. After a few carefully placed logs and lots of newspaper, we have a blaze.

  I lean back in my chair and Tabitha sits on the couch, her back ramrod straight. She’s not talking and appears uncomfortable and I feel guilty for any harsh words I may have uttered. I know it’s the fatigue talking but the last thing I want to do is hurt my crazy cousin’s feelings. Finally, she places two glasses on the coffee table and fills both, immediately downs one.

  I think about the child who may be growing inside of me and shake my head when she fills my glass. Tabitha studies me for a few seconds, then raises that glass and swallows the contents with one gulp.

  “What’s going on?” I finally ask. “And why do you still have that tiara on your head?”

  She rubs her eyes. “I take it off, you know.”

  Well, that’s something. “But why…?”

  “I’m the queen of Conventina.”

  I nod. “Yes, I know.”

  “She’s the goddess of springs.”

  I vaguely remember the krewe president explaining that at the luncheon.

  “It’s the reason why Grandma Willow settled here,” Tabitha explains, finally looking me in the eye and appearing more logical than I’ve ever seen her. “Did you know that?”

  “I know about Bladon Springs nearby, which was a big resort in its day.”

  Tabitha drains the last of the whiskey from the glass. “That’s one of them. The one behind the house is another.”

  The fire pops and sends sparks heavenward. “I didn’t know there was a spring here.”

  “It flows into the pond, although it’s nothing like it used to be. Too much development in the county disrupted a lot of the water flow.”

  I want to point out that a lot of that development is likely the result of Jerry’s real estate dealings but I don’t want to interrupt.

  “When Grandma Willow came to this place, the spring healed people. Some say she got her powers from those waters.”

  That chill sneaking into my bones earlier returns and I shiver. Tabitha notices and asks if I’m cold. I pull the coat she lent me two weeks earlier over my shoulders. “Go on,” I say.

  Tabitha rises and begins to pace the living room, stopping at the threshold to the dining room and shivering herself. She turns back to me and swallows. Hard.

  “Do you remember when you left here? The day I gave you that coat?”

  I nod.

  “I was wearing the tiara.” She looks down at her feet. “I admit, I was excited and I wanted to wear it that day.”

  “That’s okay, Tabitha. I probably would have too.” Not really, but I want to make her feel better.

  She rubs her hands together nervously, glances at the dining room, winces, and looks back at me. Now, I’m concerned. Something weird is happening here. “What is it?”

  “I read energy now.”

  She says it so softly I almost don’t hear her. “What?”

  She steps closer but her voice is still tiny and nervous. “I think I can read energy.”

  I’ve heard about people sensing energy and relating past histories. And I remember what my high school physics teacher taught me in tenth grade, that energy cannot be created nor destroyed, but can only change form. I’ve thought about her and that physics law ever since I started seeing SCANCy ghosts, that maybe the energy of live people is what is left behind for us to see once they’ve transitioned into death. It’s one possible explanation.

  But reading energy is a different phenomenon.

  “So, you’re saying you can sense people’s energies?”

  She brightens. “Yes. Exactly.”

  “And this just happened?”

  The nervousness returns. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

  I nod. “I promise.”

  She swallows. “Ever since I put on this tiara.”

  In any other situation, I might have laughed or deemed her crazy. But she’s a member of my nutty family so I don’t discount this gift at all. And if anyone would develop “special talents” with a tiara, it would be Tabitha Pickles.

  And yet, I don’t know what to say. My mouth hangs open like a trout.

  “You don’t believe me.”

  “Actually, I do.”

  She exhales and her shoulders drop an inch. “Jerry says I’m nuts.”

  “Jerry likes Pabst Blue Ribbon beer.”

  Tabitha lets out a squeal of laughter. “And pork rinds.”

  I join her with a smile. “So, don’t listen to him.”

  We revel in the break of merriment, then Tabitha gets serious again. That foreboding I had when driving up to the homestead returns. “Does this have something to do with my father?”

  She starts rubbing her hands together again and looks back at the dining room.

  “Tabitha?”

  Finally, she sits on the sofa in front of me. “I think I know why he was here and how it all happened.”

  My heart stalls and I feel lightheaded. Do I really want to know?

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “My father was murdered by a drug dealer. That’s what I think.”

  She nods but then frowns as if only half of that is true.

  “What?” I ask her.

  She rises and takes my hand, pulls me to my feet and we head to the dining room. She pauses at the threshold and points to the left.

  “Your father came here with a Mexican man.”

  “Manuel Ruiz.”

  She frowns. “Maybe. I don’t get names.”

  I swallow hard, trying to push down the massive blockage in my chest. “Manuel killed my father.”

  Tabitha shakes her head, the tiny crystals in her tiara rattling. “No, there was another man.”

  “Peter Thomaston?”

  She looks at me exasperated this time. “I don’t get names.”

  I hold up my hands. “Okay.”

  “He was an American. Tall guy with an ugly face. That’s all I got.”

  “Okay, but that sounds like him. Peter Thomaston was a drug lord and Manuel Ruiz, the Mexican, worked for him.”

  She nods again. “That makes sense. Because the American came here looking for them, was angry that they were here, hiding out.”

  This is news. “They were hiding out?”

  “Yeah. Your Dad and the Mexican. Apparently, the big American guy killed a friend of your dad’s and the Mexican was upset about it.”

  She walks toward the left side of the room where a large sideboard is located. “The Mexican was here, and he was arguing with the tall guy. The tall guy wanted the Mexican….”

  I don’t think I can listen to her name nationalities any longer. “Call him Ruiz.”

  “The tall guy wanted Ruiz to kill your father.”

  I step back, clutching my chest, not sure I want to hear anymore. Tabitha grabs my arm. “It’s not what you think.”

  I attempt to breathe. “What do I think?”

  “Ruiz wouldn’t do it.”

  This is a strange turn of events. “So, Thomaston killed Dad?”

  Tabitha deflates a little, pausing to gather her thoughts like a mother explaining a tough subject to a child. “The tall guy — Thomaston — pulled out a pistol to shoot your father but Ruiz knocked him over the head with his rifle.”

  I can feel my head tilt like a dog pondering his master’s voice. “So, who killed my dad?”

  Tabitha walks across the room to where th
e wall of the dining room meets the back porch. She pauses at a dark stain in the floor. “Thomaston’s pistol went off and hit your father in the shoulder. This is where he fell.”

  I look at the spot on the floor and think of my poor dad dying there. No wonder he was so clear to me when I first saw him. His ghost must remain in this house.

  “Ruiz took off your dad’s clothes and exchanged them with Thomaston,” Tabitha continues. “Then he threw his boss into the pond.”

  My head jerks up. “Wait, what?”

  “He even took off your dad’s wedding ring.”

  Shivers flow through me like water and I hug myself to keep from shaking violently. “Tabitha, what are you saying?”

  She also wraps her arms about herself, looking unsure of what she is about to explain. “I don’t think your dad is dead.”

  As much as I want to believe this, I know this can’t be true. “I see him, Tabitha. I’ve been seeing his ghost for two weeks now.”

  Suddenly, my dipsey cousin I never take seriously turns solemn and gazes at me as if she’s the teacher and I the poor student who is failing to comprehend something very important.

  “On my God, Vi. It’s because you’re a SCANC!”

  I huff. “I know that Tabitha, how is that…?”

  “Specific Communication with Apparitions, Non-entities and the Comatose.”

  A lightning strike couldn’t have had more impact. Of course. The darkness, the void, my dad’s failure to be at peace. If Ruiz switched their clothes, then it was Thomaston in the pond and not my father and Mimi never would have guessed since the body had deteriorated and Thomaston wore my dad’s wedding ring. And right now, my father lingers in some dark space.

  “Where’s the nearest hospital?” I ask, but Tabitha doesn’t answer, grabs my arm and we’re out the door.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tabitha’s driving and I’m riding shotgun heading to Butler, watching the rural countryside of Alabama fly by in a daze. My heart’s beating so fast I swear I can hear it.