Grim Tidings

by Amanda M. Lee

“They’re getting bolder,” Aidan said.

  “Yeah,” Cillian agreed. “Either they don’t care that we’ve found out, or that was part of their plan all along. We really have no way of knowing.”

  “The question is why,” Dad said, running his hand through his hair. “If they do want us to know – and I find it hard to believe that they don’t – what is their ultimate goal?”

  “Is there any way we can find that out?” I asked.

  “I have no idea,” Dad said. “I honestly have no idea.”

  I turned to Cillian, but he merely shrugged in response. “I don’t know either.”

  Well, this isn’t good.

  Twenty-Five

  “I’m sorry, what are we doing?”

  Redmond had informed me about Dad’s way of distracting us from our current dilemma, but I thought he was playing a joke on me.

  “Dad wants to go golfing,” Redmond said, matching me shrug for shrug.

  “Golfing? I don’t golf. It’s a stupid sport. It’s really just whacking a ball and walking after it.”

  “You can drive the cart,” Redmond offered.

  “Is that legal on the meds I’m on?”

  “At least it will be entertaining.”

  “Don’t any of us have to work today? I know I’m off the schedule for a few days because of my little incident, but the rest of you should have to work,” I said.

  “Thanks.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I guess there were only six names to deal with today,” Redmond explained. “Dad contacted the Grimaldis and they’ve agreed to cover for us.”

  “So Dad is actually organizing an event that encourages us to shirk our duties? Has he been possessed?”

  “Funny,” Redmond poked me in the ribs, making my cringe because of my back. “And I’m a little worried, too.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good sign,” I said. “It means he thinks we’re all going to die or something.”

  “God, you’re so dramatic.”

  “Am I wrong?”

  Redmond swished his lips as he considered the question. “Let’s just humor him.”

  “So, you think we’re going to die, too?”

  “We’re not going to die,” Redmond laughed. “Is it so wrong that he wants us to go out as a family?”

  “He’s taking us to the country club,” I reminded him. “That means we have to dress properly.”

  “So?

  “So? So I don’t have any short pants here.” Or anywhere, for that matter.

  “Yes, you do,” Jerry said, breezing into the room. “I went to the store and picked some up for you.”

  “You did? When?”

  “When you were in the shower.”

  “I don’t like those little short pants. I don’t have any shoes that will go with them.”

  “Your golf shoes are in the foyer,” Aidan said, only a few feet behind Jerry, two shopping bags in his hand.

  “I threw those shoes away when I was a teenager,” I said. “They made me look all bow-legged.”

  “The maid saved them,” Aidan replied.

  “Which maid?”

  “Marcella,” Aidan answered. “And don’t even think about retribution. Dad ordered her to get them out of the trash. It’s not her fault.”

  When we were students, Dad had insisted we all join the high school golf team. The boys had been fine with it – even when it interfered with their football schedules. Since my hand-eye coordination was lacking, I had taken to insulting the golf coach until she kicked me off the team. It had taken less than two weeks.

  Jerry took the shopping bags from Aidan and handed them to me. “Get dressed, Bug. It’s going to be fun.”

  Jerry always did have a weird sense of fun.

  Forty-five minutes later, the seven of us were standing outside the pro shop and debating cart assignments.

  “I’m deciding who is riding together,” Dad announced.

  “That doesn’t sound like any fun,” Aidan complained.

  “It sounds like the most reasonable way for me to keep the lot of you from embarrassing me.”

  If he thought that was a genuine option, he had been drinking all morning when I wasn’t looking. Maybe that’s why he is always hiding behind his newspaper. Hmm, food for thought. Speaking of food … .

  “Okay,” Dad said after a second. “Redmond and Aidan are together. Cillian and Jerry are together. That leaves Braden and Aisling. That sounds like a good combination.”

  “I want to ride with Jerry,” Aidan complained.

  I openly glared at him.

  “After the superheroes extravaganza last night, that’s not even a remote possibility,” Dad replied. “You two are grounded from each other for the day.”

  “I notice you get to have a cart all to yourself,” Redmond grumbled.

  “I’m the patriarch. I need time to myself,” Dad replied.

  “How do you figure?” Cillian asked.

  “I have to live with you idiots,” Dad shot back. “I’ve earned it. Plus, I’m paying.”

  “Can we at least grab a hot dog or something before we go? I’m starved,” I said.

  “You ate a dozen eggs for breakfast this morning,” Cillian pointed out.

  “They don’t serve hot dogs here,” Dad scoffed. “We’ll eat after we’re done with our round. In the dining room, like proper golfers.”

  “I thought golf was all about getting drunk and staying out of the rough,” I said.

  “Ruff. Ruff.” Aidan started to bark, snapping his mouth shut when Dad’s glare landed on him.

  “This is why you’re riding with Braden,” Dad said. “He can teach you a few things.”

  “I guess you’re not his favorite anymore,” Braden laughed.

  “My back hurts,” I announced. It was a little late to get out of golfing, but I figured it was worth a try.

  “Then just sit in the cart,” Dad ordered.

  I glanced over at Braden. “I’m driving.”

  “I’m driving,” Braden corrected me.

  “If I have to be here, I’m driving,” I shot back.

  “Let your sister drive,” Dad said. “Make sure she’s behind me, though.”

  “Is that another comment on my driving?”

  “You drive fine,” Dad said. “You’re a woman. You can’t help yourself.”

  Jerry snickered.

  “You’re not allowed to drive,” Dad turned on Jerry. “Cillian will drive your cart.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve seen you drive.”

  “I THOUGHT you were supposed to stay out of the sand.”

  Braden shot me a dirty look. “If you’re not going to play, then shut your mouth.”

  “I’m injured,” I reminded him.

  “How long do you plan on playing that card?”

  “Until my back doesn’t feel like I got caught in a tent with thirty angry cats.”

  Braden looked properly chastised. “I’m sorry,” he said after a minute. “You were really hurt and I’m glad you’re all right.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why are you needling me?”

  “I’m bored.”

  “Well, at least you have a reason.”

  “Sonofabitch!”

  I glanced to our left, where Aidan was caught in a different sand trap.

  “Use your sand wedge,” Dad ordered.

  “Thanks, I never would have figured that out myself,” Aidan deadpanned.

  “Maybe you should have tried staying out of the sand trap,” I suggested.

  “Shut your trap,” Aidan grumbled.

  “Don’t be mean to your sister,” Dad said. “She’s injured.”

  I shot a triumphant look in Braden’s direction. He was too busy swinging to notice. When the ball popped up and landed on the green, rolling to a stop two feet from the hole, Braden raised his fist. “Yes!”

  “You’re still going to bogey,” Redmond said. Since he was winning, he looked
rather pleased with himself.

  “My whole day has been a bogey,” Jerry complained.

  “You look great, though,” I offered, sending him a thumbs up from my spot in the cart.

  “I do,” Jerry agreed.

  “Can we play faster?” Dad asked. “We’re starting to hold people up.”

  I glanced back to the tee, where a foursome was standing and waiting for us to move on. “We could just quit here.”

  “It’s only the eighth hole,” Dad countered.

  “It feels like the hundredth,” I grumbled.

  “We can get something to drink after this,” Redmond said. “There’s a refreshment stand just over there.”

  “I thought golf courses were supposed to have cute women in short shorts delivering beer,” Cillian mused.

  “There are no beverage carts here,” Dad replied. “They’re tacky. This is a classy place.”

  “And boring,” Cillian muttered.

  “I heard that,” Dad said.

  “I meant for you to.”

  Dad was angry now. “Why can’t we do anything nice as a family?”

  “We can,” I replied. “It should just be something we all want to do.”

  “Therapy?” Redmond suggested.

  Dad ignored him. “And what is that?”

  “We could have gone to the zoo,” I replied.

  “Oh, I love the zoo,” Jerry said. “That polar bear exhibit is awesome.”

  “I love the zoo, too,” Aidan said, sending Jerry a saucy wink. “We’ll have to go some time.”

  “That sounds like a good idea.”

  “The zoo is for children,” Dad argued.

  “What do you think we are?” I pointed out.

  “Hit your shot,” Dad ordered to Aidan.

  “Fine.”

  Aidan whacked at the ball and missed. “Do over,” he shouted.

  “It’s called a mulligan,” Redmond corrected him.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” Redmond shrugged.

  “Will you just hit the ball?” Dad looked about ready to explode.

  Aidan tried again, this time making contact with his little white nemesis and knocking it up onto the green. Jerry applauded while I rolled my eyes.

  “I’m bored,” I said.

  “Take a nap,” Dad instructed.

  “I can’t sleep outside, you know that. That’s why I can’t camp.”

  “I still think that’s an excuse,” Braden said. “You just don’t like the great outdoors. You’re scared of bugs.”

  This was true. “If we were meant to sleep outdoors, God wouldn’t have created houses.”

  “Which God?” Redmond teased.

  “Any of them.”

  “Will you all shut up and play?” Dad was close to his limit.

  “Can’t we just declare Redmond the winner and go eat?” I asked. “I’m hungry.”

  “No!”

  “I need to take my pain meds,” I tried again.

  “So take them.”

  “I can’t take them on an empty stomach. They’ll make me sick. Are you saying you want me to get sick?”

  “We’ll get you a snack in a few minutes,” Dad said.

  Braden knocked a putt in, with Aidan following suit a few minutes later. Dad wasn’t the only one at his limit, though.

  “I’m bored,” I announced again.

  Dad sighed. “Why couldn’t I have fathered grateful children?”

  “We learn from your example,” Redmond said.

  If red were a natural color for a man's face, I would say Dad looked marginally relaxed. I’m not that stupid, though. On the other hand, I was definitely hungry.

  “We’re eating soon, right?” I prodded again.

  Dad sighed, the sound akin to an irritated lion.

  “You’re definitely not the favorite anymore,” Braden laughed.

  Twenty-Six

  “I can’t believe they’re making you go back to work so soon. You almost died.”

  Jerry and I were eating muffins at the kitchen table – Jerry is in the middle of a new recipe-tasting extravaganza – and my work plans for the day were sending him into a tizzy.

  “I didn’t almost die,” I corrected him. “I hurt my back.”

  “And your back is fine now? Because you still seem to be favoring your right side and you’re hiding under some big shirts.”

  “My back is a little colorful,” I admitted. “It’s getting better, though.”

  “So, your dad decided to reward you by sending you out into another dangerous situation?” Jerry’s face was filled with unspoken vitriol. “He makes me mad – and sad. I’m smad.”

  “I only have one assignment,” I replied, ignoring Jerry’s attempt at coining a new word. “It’s at an old folks home in St. Clair Shores. They don’t get much safer. Unless one of them attacks me with knitting needles, I think I’ll be fine.”

  “Still.” Jerry huffed. “I think you need another week off. And, for the record, knitting is a viable hobby.”

  Jerry was taking a knitting class. Of course he would say that. “You were the one who said I had to find a job and thought working for my family was a good idea,” I reminded.

  “That’s before I knew there were soul-sucking wraiths and eternal evil witches running around trying to kill you,” Jerry said.

  “To be fair, I don’t think it was trying to kill me,” I said. “In fact, the wraith barely seemed to register I was in the same room with it. And we don’t know what happened to Genevieve Torth. Odds are, she’s dead.”

  Jerry rolled his eyes and dropped his mouth open in mock horror. “And how is that different?”

  I blew out a sigh. “Can we argue about this later? I’m going to be late.” I got up from the table and leaned over to drop a quick kiss on Jerry’s forehead. “You’re a good friend. It’s going to be fine.”

  “It doesn’t feel that way,” Jerry grumbled.

  “I like the blueberry, if that helps,” I offered.

  “Does that mean you didn’t like the lemon ones?”

  “I don’t like lemon.”

  “You like it fine when vodka is mixed with it,” Jerry pointed out.

  “That’s different.”

  “Fine, whatever,” Jerry waved me off. “I can’t focus on food when you’re about to walk in to imminent peril and probably die.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “Imminent peril?”

  “What? I know things.”

  “Was there another Law & Order marathon on last night?”

  “That’s a great show,” Jerry protested.

  It’s no wonder he’s so dramatic. He lives his life according to television.

  An hour later, I was standing outside of Summer’s Dream Ultimate Living Center. It didn’t look like a bad place – it even had a view of the lake – but, in general, these places always leave me depressed.

  I walked through the front door – an excuse to explain my visit on my lips – but the secretary merely waved at me and continued to chatter on her cell phone. I moved through the double doors that separated the lobby from the rest of the center.

  My list told me that Evelyn Pratt was in Room 116, so I followed the plaques on the wall until I found her room and poked my head around the corner. I believed what I told Jerry – that the wraith wouldn’t come here – but I had no problem being overly cautious.

  “Frank?”

  The ravaged voice took me by surprise. I moved the entire way around the corner and found Evelyn resting in her bed. I had brought the ring – in case I needed to cloak myself – but I was playing it by ear right now.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?”

  “Frank, is that you?”

  Maybe Jerry was right and I did need to start branching out with my shoe choices. “No, ma’am, my name is Aisling.”

  “I’m ready to go, Frank. I’m ready to come home.”

  She must be delirious. “Ma’am, I’m not Frank.”

  “I’m ready, Lo
rd.”

  Great. If she was talking, that must mean she wasn’t close to shuffling off her mortal coil. I moved inside the room and sat down in the chair opposite Evelyn’s bed. Once I saw her up close, I realized my knee-jerk reaction might be a little off. If her shriveled body and sallow skin were any indication, she’d really died yesterday and no one had noticed. Seriously. I don’t want to get old. It freaks me out.

  “Frank, I want you to know that I forgive you.”

  I decided to let Evelyn babble. If anyone questioned my reason for being in the room I would tell them that I was worried about leaving her alone and then slip out when no one was looking. I could come back later with the ring – if it became necessary.

  “I know you were running around with Aida,” Evelyn continued. “You didn’t know I knew, but I knew.”

  I felt sort of bad for Evelyn. Here she was, missing her husband, and the bastard had cheated on her – and with someone she obviously knew. Men are scum.

  “That’s why I cut her brake lines,” Evelyn admitted.

  I frowned. Evelyn’s file said she was going to Heaven. Maybe no one was hurt and she told someone before anything bad happened.

  “When she died, I saw how crushed you were,” Evelyn prattled on. “It made me happy.”

  Wait, she killed someone and she’s going to Heaven? And she was happy about it? That can’t be right.

  “God forgives me, though,” Evelyn said. “Father Henry told me so. I told him what I did and he gave me my penance – and he agrees that she was fat so he has no idea why you cheated on me with her. He gave me a pretty stiff penance, though. I did it all, too. Two hundred rosaries and five hundred Hail Marys. I did every single one.”

  That didn’t sound like much of a penance for murder, but that Catholic confession thing has always been an interesting loophole.

  “I thought it was a bit much, but I did it,” Evelyn said. “Now, I’m ready to come home. So, come get me.”

  She seriously didn’t sound as though she’s dying within the next few minutes. Maybe I should try to find a vending machine? Twizzlers sound good. I got to my feet and started to move out of the room, but something about Evelyn’s body stilled me.

  Evelyn let loose with one long, rattling breath and then her chest stopped moving up or down.

  “Oh, seriously?” I grumbled. “I had my heart set on Twizzlers.”