It's A Wonderful Midlife Crisis : A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel: Good To The Last Death Book One

by Robyn Peterman

  “Good plan,” Jennifer said, carefully tucking the open bottle of chardonnay into her purse. “Can you pick us up for work in the morning?”

  “Yep, my botoxicated buddy,” Heather said. “I’ll be the taxi tonight and then again in the morning. You going to be okay, Daisy?”

  “Fine,” I said, busying myself cleaning up the mess. “I’m great. Just going to straighten up a bit and take Donna out for a pee-pee. I’m good.”

  Heather nodded but gave me one last uneasy glance. Wait. Could she see the ghosts? Were the damn ghosts really here? My question was answered when Heather walked right through Sam to get her platter from the kitchen. No one would walk through a dead person on purpose. I know I certainly wouldn’t.

  “Ohh,” June said, helping me gather the wine glasses and plates to take to the kitchen. “Wait until you see Gideon.”

  “Who’s Gideon?” I asked, keeping a tight hold on Donna while I balanced a tray of half-eaten pie in one hand. It wouldn’t do to have Donna stand in front of Sam and bark at him. He might feel bad. Oh my God. Looney bin, here I come…

  “The hottie lawyer Clarissa wants to bang,” Jennifer filled me in. “Man’s a damned work of art. Heather, even you have to admit Gideon is hot.”

  “He’s hot,” Heather yelled from the kitchen.

  “See,” Jennifer said, nudging me. “Even the lesbian says he’s hot.”

  Not wanting to admit to my mortifying meeting with Gideon, I shrugged. “Well, Clarissa must be happy.”

  “Funny thing,” June said, reentering the family room and wiping down the coffee table. “He seems to dislike her as much as we do.”

  That had to be going over well. Not.

  “Yep, she’s acting like a simpering fool around Mr. Fine-ass,” Jennifer said, folding the afghan and setting the pillows back on the couches. “It’s better than watching Golden Girls reruns to see her get crapped on.”

  “It really is,” June said with a giggle. “She doesn’t know what to do. It’s too bad you won’t be there to see it.”

  “You quit?” Missy asked, surprised, as she popped her head out of the kitchen while drying some of the platters that Heather must have washed.

  “I wish,” I said. “But no. Clarissa gave me the week off to work at home.”

  “Why in the heck would she do that?” Missy asked, perplexed.

  Missy knew all about Clarissa and didn’t like her any more than we did. Multiple times, she’d closed her shop as Clarissa was walking in the door. Suffice it to say there was no love lost between my bestie and my boss.

  “She did it so Gideon won’t see Daisy. She doesn’t want competition,” Jennifer said and then paused. “I was waggling my brows. Did it work?”

  “Umm, no,” I told her. “I don’t think much on your face is going to move for a while.”

  “Right,” Jennifer said. “I’m just going to narrate my reactions for the next year.”

  “Kill me now,” Heather yelled from the kitchen.

  Sam thought the exchange was funny and laughed. The other dead people joined him. It was incredibly hard to not look at the specters hanging out in the same room with my oxygen-breathing friends, but I was doing a pretty good job. Thankfully, Donna the Destroyer had stopped barking at them.

  “I’m not anyone’s competition,” I said, putting Donna down, now that she wasn’t so focused on my dead guests. “You couldn’t pay me a million dollars to date a lawyer.”

  “Shit,” Heather said, rejoining us in the family room. “Does that mean I have no chance at all once I pass the bar?”

  Shaking my head, I laughed and hugged my friend tight. “If I ever change teams, you’re my gal. I promise.”

  “Well, Happy Birthday, Daisy,” Missy said, giving me a kiss on the cheek and ruffling Heather’s hair. “Forty is going to be a great year for you. I can feel it.”

  I prayed I didn’t wince. Forty had not been good so far other than being with my friends and getting a puppy. It was odd that Missy would even say that. My best friend had kind of a sixth sense about things. Her fabulous kitschy bookstore was loaded with bestsellers along with books on magic and all sorts of other new-agey stuff that I constantly rolled my eyes about.

  Wait. What the hell was I rolling my eyes about? I was seeing dead people.

  Whatever. No one—even a person in-tune with seeing things—could be right always. Missy had missed the mark this time but I wasn’t about to correct her. My friends had only recently eased up on their worry about me losing Steve. I didn’t need them worrying about anything else. I was too much of a drain on them as it was.

  “It’ll be great,” I lied with a smile. “I love all of you nutbags. Thank you for coming tonight.”

  “Wouldn’t have missed it,” June said, giving me a warm mom-hug. “Are you coming in tomorrow morning to pick up some work?”

  Damn. “You know,” I said, making a plan as the words fell from my lips. Avoiding Gideon seemed like the smartest thing to do for my mental health. I wasn’t exactly sure why, but I was going with my gut. “Having Donna now, I was wondering if someone could meet me at the coffee shop and bring me a big load. That way I could take Donna into town with me.”

  “Great idea,” Heather said. “I’ll do it.”

  “Meet up at the bookstore,” Missy suggested. “I’ll make coffee.”

  “Perfect,” I said with a sigh of relief. “I’ll meet you there at nine.”

  “Be there or be square,” June said with a giggle as she and Jennifer danced out of the house.

  “Is June just the cutest thing ever or what?” Missy asked with a wistful smile. “I would have killed for a mom like her.”

  “Wouldn’t we all?” Heather added, following June and Jennifer out.

  “See you tomorrow,” Missy said, giving Donna one last snuggle.

  “Yep. Tomorrow.”

  Closing the door, I pressed my forehead to the wood and sighed. The night had been fantastic until it got weird. Turning, I waved to the poltergeists seated on my couch. Donna was at Sam’s feet, looking up at him and wagging her tail like a maniac.

  Having a dog was going to be interesting. Having a dog that could see dead people like I could was going to be mind-blowing.

  I didn’t feel quite as crazy as I did just hours ago. I mean, I was still nuts, but maybe I wasn’t certifiably nuts.

  One could always hope.

  “Sam, I don’t know what you want,” I said for the fifth time as he spastically gestured.

  It was now three in the morning. Dead folks had wandered in and out of the kitchen for the last few hours watching Sam try to communicate with me. It wasn’t working. The more he gesticulated, the worse I felt. I knew he needed my help, but I had no clue why.

  The handless lady was far easier. I found a hand. Handless lady showed up. I glued the hand back on. It stayed… who knew? Done.

  This new twist? Not clear.

  “God, I’m sorry, Sam,” I said, letting my head fall to the kitchen table with a thud. I was exhausted, but Sam was so upset I kept trying. “I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me.”

  Donna barked and peed on my foot. Great. Could the night get any better?

  Hopping across the kitchen with my pee foot in the air so I didn’t track urine all over, I grabbed some paper towels and cleaner. My contacts were giving me a headache. Popping them out, I found my glasses on the breakfast bar.

  Sam went nuts.

  “Gaussaus,” he grunted.

  “You’re gaseous?” I asked, really not needing to know the bathroom habits of the dead. I quickly cleaned up the pee mess and sat back down.

  “Naawwwooo,” he groaned.

  “Okay. You don’t have gas?”

  Sam shook his head no and pointed to my eyes. “Gaussaus.”

  “My glasses?” I asked.

  “Yausssss,” he said, getting excited. “Lassssh gaussaus.”

  “Lash glasses?” I guessed.

  Donna growled.

 
; “Naawwwooo,” Sam said. “Lassssh gaussaus.”

  “Last glasses?” I tried again.

  Donna growled again. What the hell? Was she letting me know I was wrong? Could she understand Sam? Dogs were smart, but they didn’t speak English at three months old… or ever. She’d just peed on my foot. There was no way she understood a dead person.

  “Naawwwooo.” Sam repeated the same odd phrase. “Lassssh gaussaus.”

  “Lost glasses?” I asked, just wanting to go to bed.

  Donna the Destroyer barked and wagged her tail. She also peed a little more on my foot. Awesome.

  “Yausssss,” Sam bellowed, causing the lights in the old farmhouse to flicker.

  Holy Hell on a Sunday. My dog understands dead people.

  I’d had enough for one night.

  “Okay, Sam. We’ve established you lost your glasses,” I said, re-wiping the floor and hoping my new puppy was peed out for the night, “We’ll get back to this tomorrow. Cool? I can’t keep my eyes open.”

  Sam didn’t look wildly pleased with the turn of events, but he nodded his head politely and faded away. I sat there for a long moment and tried to make sense of my life. It wasn’t possible. Plus, it was now three-thirty in the morning.

  I’d make sense of my life tomorrow—or later today as it were.

  Or maybe not.

  The possibilities were endless.

  “Come on, Donna. We’re going to bed.”

  I knew it wasn’t the smartest move to take a furball into my bed that had peed on me twice in the last ten minutes alone, but it felt right. I’d probably live to regret it, but that’s what washing machines and showers were for.

  Chapter Six

  “What are all of you guys doing here?” I asked, walking into Missy’s bookstore at nine AM sharp with Donna in tow. I’d stopped by the pet store and bought my puppy a hot pink collar and leash along with a ridiculous amount of chew toys on my credit card.

  With the promise of the life insurance money coming in, it felt kind of safe to spend a little. I wouldn’t spend it on myself, but my furry baby needed a few items. I was hoping Donna the Destroyer didn’t live up to the name I’d bestowed on her. I liked my couches. “Clarissa will have an aneurysm if no one’s in the office.”

  Jennifer grinned—or she tried to. “The Wicked Witch isn’t in today, so we’re playing hooky and taking a short coffee break.”

  Clarissa never missed work. I suspected her goal in life was to terrorize us and she couldn’t do that if she wasn’t there. Maybe she’d nailed Gideon and they were making a late morning of it. The fact that the thought of them together bothered me was highly annoying. I didn’t want the man. He was bad news and then some. And I wouldn’t know what to do with him if I did have him.

  “I just love romance novels,” June gushed with a sigh as she perused the romance aisle of Missy’s shop.

  “Romance novels are full of unrealistic sexual expectations,” Heather said with a raised brow. “I don’t know anyone who can orgasm fifteen times in a night—male or female.”

  “Oh, I know that,” June said with a delightful giggle. “I have my own Prince Charming that I’m keeping who happens to be wonderful in the sack. But these books are so much fun.”

  June was the only one of us who had achieved a real and loving happily-ever-after. Her husband Charlie was as sweet as she was. He was a lab technician at the local hospital. Slightly overweight with a contagious laugh and twinkling blue eyes, Charlie worshipped the ground June walked on. Her kids were great as well—all of them kind and well-adjusted. Each of us wanted her for a mom, including Jennifer, who was about a decade older than June.

  “Read a line and I’ll rework it,” Heather said, rubbing her hands together with glee.

  Heather loved a challenge. I was quite sure she could level a romance novel just like she could take down an empire.

  “Oh my God,” Missy muttered with a laugh as she made coffee for everyone. “If a customer comes in, you have to shut your traps. I need to sell those books.”

  “Deal,” Heather promised. “June, give me a line—a sexy line.”

  Paging through the book she’d picked up, June giggled and blushed. “Okay, here’s one. She had breasts like a tempestuous goddess and I lusted to ravish her.”

  “That’s kind of grammatically warped. Does it even make sense?” I asked, pulling a rubber bone out of my purse for Donna so she didn’t chew up a book.

  “Nope, not a bit of sense, but I’d do him,” Jennifer commented.

  “He doesn’t exist,” Heather said with an eye roll. “Here’s the more accurate version. She had knockers like a middle-aged librarian and I hankered to grope her.”

  “I’d do that guy too,” Jennifer said with a cackle. “At my age, I’ll take whatever groping I can get.”

  “I’m having déjà poo,” Missy said.

  “Don’t you mean déjà vu?” I asked with a grin as I kept a close eye on Donna. We didn’t need an accident in Missy’s shop.

  “Nope. I meant déjà poo,” Missy confirmed. “The distinct feeling I’ve heard this crap before. About six months ago, June and Heather had a go at the children’s book section. Heather made Dr. Seuss sound like a freaking pervert.”

  “I’m that good,” Heather announced with pride.

  “Or that bad,” Missy added with a laugh.

  “That too,” Heather acknowledged with a bow. “Give me another, June.”

  “Here’s one,” June said, making herself comfortable on a cozy chair in the reading nook. “Her silken thighs were mesmerizing and I longed to worship her womanhood.”

  “Oh my God,” I said, shaking my head. “Her womanhood? Worship her womanhood? Really?”

  “Hang on,” Heather said. “I’m going to fix that one up. Her cellulite-ridden thighs were boner-inducing because a change in the wind was boner-inducing to a randy idiot like myself. And I pined to bang her for as long as my manhood could please her, which will be about ten seconds before I blow my wad.”

  I choked on my coffee. Heather was all kinds of awful, and hilarious to boot.

  “How about this?” Jennifer asked. “She had a butt like a juicy mango and I hungered to raw dog it with her.”

  “You win for most disgusting,” Heather told Jennifer with a laugh.

  “I know! Right?” Jennifer sang and pumped her little fists in the air.

  “You guys could write one hell of a horrifying romance novel,” Missy said with a groan, passing out scones. “Remind me not to carry this masterpiece in the shop if you ever completely lose your minds and actually write it.”

  “Will do,” Heather replied. “We’d have to use fake names. I could get run out of town for something like this. Daisy, you do one.”

  “I suck at romantic stuff,” I protested.

  “The whole point is to make it as unromantic as possible,” June pointed out.

  My real life was as unromantic as it could get. However, if my embarrassment could make my best friends laugh, I was in. “Fine. But it’s kind of real.”

  “Oh my God,” Missy muttered with a laugh. “Is it about the accountant?”

  “Yep,” I said, grabbing a pen and a piece of paper. I wasn’t as good as Heather. I couldn’t riff without a little planning. “Hang on.”

  “Take your time,” Jennifer said. “We have all day since the witch isn’t there.”

  “Female point of view. Fairytale genre,” I said, explaining myself.

  “Got it,” Heather said with a grin. “You go gurl!”

  Looking down at the paper, I went for it. “Once upon a time there was a gal who drank an entire bottle of wine and banged a dude with less personality than a box of hair.”

  “Sounds like my ex,” Jennifer volunteered.

  “Which one?” Missy asked.

  “All of them,” Jennifer replied with a laugh.

  “Hush, let her finish,” Heather said.

  I went on, gaining confidence due to the grins and the laughte
r. “After two and a half minutes of contemplative thought, which was thirty seconds longer than his manly performance, she decided that men simply weren’t worth it. Her booty call’s man-junk was so itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny, she wasn’t sure they’d even had sex at all. Not to mention if he was truly into the art of manscaping, he really should have had a go at his back. From now on, she was going to stick to BOB—all he needed was batteries and he wasn’t hairy. And if she ever banged a dude again, she would be sure to check his back first. The end.”

  “Brilliant,” Jennifer bellowed as she bent forward in laughter.

  “Oh my goodness,” June said, fanning herself and giggling. “He was that hairy?”

  “He was,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “And he showed up the next morning to tell me he was smarter than me.”

  “Get out of town,” Jennifer shouted. “That deserves a knee to the balls.”

  Heather was cackling. Missy shook her head and chuckled.

  I felt awesome and free. Maybe forty would be a good year after all. My mortifying life could be turned into a stand-up act. June’s high-pitched giggle made me laugh harder. She was blood red and fanning herself like it was August. Even Donna the Destroyer thought I was hilarious. She sprinted around the shop barking and licking everyone’s shoes. I decided to go with the fact that she hadn’t peed on anyone as a compliment.

  Taking a deep and ridiculous bow, I realized I hadn’t laughed this hard in a long time. Maybe I’d been taking everything too seriously. Of course, I was losing my mind and hanging out with dead people. Maybe I could work that into my act.

  All of a sudden the laughter turned to silence—a horrible, eerie silence.

  Son of a bitch. Had Stan walked into the shop? I didn’t like him or his pompous preppy ass at all, but I wouldn’t purposely call him out in front of anyone but my nearest and dearest. The saving grace was that I didn’t use his name. Thank God for small favors. When would I freaking learn to keep my mouth shut?

  “We were just going back to work,” June said in a shaky voice.

  “Yep,” Jennifer agreed, hightailing it out of the shop. “Just getting a quick coffee.”

  Heather wasn’t in as much of a hurry, and I was still too terrified to turn around and see the fury—or heaven forbid, hurt—on Stan’s face.