Weddings From Hell

by Jeaniene Frost

  “Michelle?” I whispered. “Are you still here?”

  “Yes,” someone said morosely. The voice came from the bathtub.

  The shower curtain was closed, so I very gingerly pulled it aside just enough to peek behind it, visions of the movie Psycho going through my head.

  There was Michelle, slumped in the tub, fully clothed, and still very wet. “I figured this was the safest place to sit,” she said, “since I’m dripping all over everything.”

  “Why are you wet?” I asked her. “You weren’t wet when I saw you at the bridal shop yesterday.”

  “Beats me,” she answered. “I was hoping you knew.”

  “How would I know?” I pulled back the shower curtain so we could see each other better and looked around, making sure the toilet seat was down before I sat.

  “Well, you see dead people, don’t you?” Michelle sat up in the tub, pushing damp hair behind her ears. “You obviously have some special powers or something. What am I doing here? What happened to me?”

  Oh, crap. How was I supposed to help her pass on if she didn’t know why she was still hanging around?

  “Okay, look—what’s the last thing you remember?” A detective I was not, but I’d give it a shot.

  Michelle sighed, resting her elbows on her knees. “Debbie and I went to the bridal shop, and then we went shopping in Peachtree City. We were looking for something cute to wear on her honeymoon.” She frowned, remembering. “We stopped at some Mexican place for lunch—we both had a couple of Margaritas. I made the mistake of asking her one too many times if she was sure she wanted to get married, and she got really pissed off.”

  Interesting.

  “Why would you ask her that at this late date?” I was just trying to get a feel for things.

  Michelle gave me a look. “Have you met Dale, the guy she’s marrying?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  She sighed. “Debbie could do so much better. She could’ve stayed with me in Augusta, gotten a job, gone to school—gotten out of this dinky little town. They practically roll the sidewalks up at night around here.”

  Now that was something I could relate to. “Hogansville has sidewalks?”

  Michelle smiled a little at that.

  “You’re her cousin Nicki, right?”

  I nodded, thinking.

  “I should’ve known when I saw the hair,” Michelle said. “Debbie told me you were all Goth and everything. I didn’t expect you to be so pretty.”

  “Um, thanks.” What did she expect—the Bride of Frankenstein? Just because I liked to play with my hair and makeup didn’t make me some kind of freak. A little extra eyeliner never hurt anybody.

  “Debbie really likes you,” Michelle said, almost wistfully. “She always thought you were cool. Thanks for filling in for me.”

  “You don’t sound like you’re mad at her,” I said. “Must not have been much of a fight.”

  Michelle shrugged. “We’ve been best friends for years, even after I moved away. We’ve had a few spats, but we always make up.” She looked away, tears filling her eyes. “Guess we won’t be making up this time.”

  Oh, man. I was never good with tears—I usually left the tea and sympathy up to Evan, but Evan wasn’t here. Making a game effort, I snagged a piece of toilet paper and offered it to her.

  She tried to take it, but her hand went right through it.

  “Damn,” she said, “that keeps happening. I can think about being somewhere and then find myself there, but I can’t touch anything or make anybody hear me.” Michelle looked at me, swiping the tears from her eyes with her fingertips. “Except you.”

  “Can you…” I hesitated, finding my own thoughts a bit creepy. “Can you think yourself back into your body?”

  I’m not sure how a ghost could actually turn pale, but that’s what she did.

  “I don’t want to,” she said, shaking her head.

  “But if you did, you could come back and tell me where you are, and then I could go find you.”

  Convoluted logic, anyone?

  Michelle shook her head again, harder this time. “No. It’s dark, it’s scary—”

  A knock at the door made me jump. “Hello? Anybody in there?” The doorknob rattled.

  “Just a minute,” I called, jumping to my feet like I’d been caught doing something wrong.

  When I glanced back toward the tub, Michelle was gone.

  “Michelle?” I whispered.

  No answer.

  Just a damp bathtub and a racing heart.

  Chapter 3

  “You’re not leaving, are you?” Debbie came up to me as I was telling Aunt Nadine what a lovely time I’d had (otherwise known as lying my ass off ). “It’s Girls Night Out after the shower! We’re going to the Long Branch—they just got a karaoke machine!”

  Oh goody. Can we go by Sizzler first?

  “Gee, Debbie, that sounds like fun but I’ve got a long day tomorrow. My partner’s taking the day off and I need to be there early to open the store.”

  Her face fell. “But I thought…”

  “Why don’t you go, Nicki?” My Aunt Nadine gave me a reproving look, instantly reminding me of my mom. “It’s Debbie’s last night of fun before she gets married.”

  “Gosh, Mom, you make it sound like getting married means I’ll never have fun again!” Debbie griped.

  Aunt Nadine smiled at her, touching her hair. “Oh, you’ll have fun, sweetie. Just a different kind, and maybe not as much. Once the babies come, everything changes.”

  Debbie wrinkled her nose. “Babies? Who said anything about babies?”

  “Yeah, really.” I grinned at Debbie, sharing a moment of understanding. “Dale’s not one of those ‘keep ’em barefoot and pregnant’ types, is he?”

  Debbie laughed, shaking her head. “Dale’s in no hurry to start a family, thank the Lord.” She grabbed my arm. “Say you’ll come out with us, Nicki. It’ll be so boring otherwise. Darlene acts like a pickled prune until she gets a few beers in her, and Donna and Diane will probably just bicker with each other all night.”

  “Sounds like fun,” I said weakly.

  “It will be,” Debbie said, “I promise.”

  “Bad news, baby,” I said into the phone. I was standing in Aunt Nadine’s front yard, waiting for everyone to pile into her Dodge Caravan. Aunt Nadine was taking no chances with her girls, and had given Debbie strict instructions about either calling her or calling a cab when girl’s night out was over. “I’ve been roped into going to Debbie’s bachelorette party.” I, of course, was taking my own car—I was hoping to slip out after a beer or two, and wasn’t going to need a designated driver.

  “That’s not so bad,” Joe said. “For a minute there I was worried you were going to tell me that you’d seen another ghost.”

  My silence told him all he needed to know.

  “Crap, Nicki.”

  “Well, it wasn’t another ghost, exactly. It was the same ghost.” I realized I was chewing nervously on a cuticle and gave myself a mental slap. “The girl from the bridal shop. Her name’s Michelle. She doesn’t know what happened to her.”

  “And you’re determined to find out, aren’t you?” Joe didn’t sound too happy at the prospect.

  I gave a sigh, not bothering to deny it. “You know as well as I do how this usually goes, Joe. The spirits who come to me don’t leave me alone until I help them, so I might as well get it over with. But that’s got nothing to do with tonight.” I hoped. “Aunt Nadine pulled the guilt card, and put me on the spot about going out with the girls. I’m just gonna have a beer or two, then slip out. The Long Branch Saloon doesn’t really sound like my kind of place.”

  “The Long Branch Saloon? Where are you, Dodge City?”

  “Might as well be,” I complained, watching as my cousins came down the front steps toward the van. “Hogansville apparently doesn’t boast much in the way of night life. Country and western karaoke…yeehaw!”

  It was Joe’s turn to
sigh. “Be careful, Nicki.”

  “I will.”

  “Call me when you’re on your way home, okay?”

  “Maybe you could wait up for me.” I lowered my voice to the level of a sexy tease. “Beer and rednecks get me hot.”

  Joe gave a short bark of laughter. “Right. In that case, I’ll break out the Pabst Blue Ribbon and greet you at the door wearing nothing but a John Deere cap.”

  I kept teasing. “Who knows? Maybe the Long Branch has a mechanical bull. You know what they say about mechanical bulls.”

  “No, what do they say about mechanical bulls?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m sure it’s something sexy.”

  “It would be if you said it.”

  Awwww.

  “How about I just give you the ride of your life when I get home instead?” I asked, as a reward for the compliment.

  “Yeehaw!” Joe crowed through the phone, making me burst into laughter. “Ride ’em, cowgirl!”

  When my cousins and I walked in the door of the Long Branch Saloon, the jukebox was blaring “I Beg Your Pardon, I Never Promised You A Rose Garden,” which should have been my first clue to get the hell out of there. The smell of stale beer and cigarettes nearly knocked me over, and I immediately stepped in something sticky.

  All I could do was be grateful I’d worn ankle boots instead of sandals.

  The room seemed dark after the brightness of the late afternoon sun, but the earliness of the hour didn’t seem to inhibit business much—the place was packed. It was obviously happy hour in Hogansville. A sea of cowboy hats and trucker caps turned in our direction as seven women spilled through the door.

  “Hoo-ee,” I heard a guy at the bar say, “the night is looking up.”

  I followed the pack of women—four cousins and two second cousins—to a pair of tables that had been cordoned off with rope. Real rope, not your average velvet-covered stuff, very classy. All the way there, I wondered how it could be physically possible to feel a roomful of rednecks eyeing your ass. Darlene untied the rope from one of the chairs and let it fall to the floor. Donna kicked it under the table, and we all took our seats.

  The waitress, a tired-looking woman with big hair, came over. “First round is on me,” Darlene said. “Long necks for everybody!”

  Unimpressed, the waitress nodded and moseyed on back to the bar.

  “Anybody up for some pool?” Diane asked hopefully.

  “I am!” said second-cousin Margaret.

  “Me, too,” said Donna, and the three of them headed for the back, where two battered pool tables were currently in use by a couple of good ol’ boys. Seeing the way Diane took her time choosing a cue, it was obvious she’d done this before. Margaret went straight to flirting with a guy who was waiting on his shot, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before they’d have a game going.

  “Mmm, mmm,” Gina said, “I think I’ve just laid eyes on my next husband.” Gina was round and short, with curly auburn hair and freckles. I was pretty sure she’d been married a couple of times already, but she wasn’t wearing a ring.

  “Which one?” Darlene asked, craning her neck to see who Gina was ogling.

  “The one at the bar, in the blue plaid shirt.”

  Oh yeah, that narrowed it down.

  “I like that one,” Darlene said, pointing. “The one with the black cowboy hat. Reminds me of Tim McGraw.”

  “Darlene!” Debbie giggled, pretending to be scandalized. “What would your husband say?”

  Darlene shrugged her thin shoulders. The sparkly green top she was wearing actually suited her; her red hair gleamed like flame, taking attention from her not-so-pretty face. “Married ain’t the same as dead, Debbie. You’ll find out soon enough.”

  Right on cue, I looked up to see someone who really did know what it was like to be dead. Michelle, Debbie’s former bridesmaid, stood against the wall, watching us with an envious expression on her face.

  Though what she had to be envious of, I had no idea. I’d gladly have traded places with her, if I didn’t have to be dead to do it.

  “So you got a boyfriend, Nicki?” Gina turned her attention from the guy at the bar long enough to make small talk.

  I nodded, tearing my eyes from Michelle. She looked so lonely standing there. “Yes, his name is Joe. He’s a doctor at Columbia Hospital.”

  “A doctor?” Gina leaned back, obviously impressed. “Good for you.”

  The comment irritated me. It wasn’t like I’d chosen him because of his profession—I’d chosen him because he was a great guy.

  A great, hot guy.

  “Is he coming to the wedding?” Debbie had no idea her best friend was standing in the shadows, watching her. She was so caught up in her own fantasy of happily-ever-after that it hadn’t occurred to her some people might not be.

  Living happily ever after, that is.

  “He’s coming,” I said.

  “Eight long necks,” said the waitress, sliding a tray onto our table. “You girls want me to run you a tab?”

  “Hell, yeah,” Darlene said. “We got some partying to do; my baby sister’s getting married!” She snatched up her beer and gestured for us to do the same. “To Debbie and Dale—may they share everything, including housework!”

  “Amen!” said Gina, as we clinked our long necks.

  The beer tasted good, and I tried to look on the bright side. A couple of these and I was out of here.

  Gina and Darlene put their heads together, sizing up all the different men at the bar, while Debbie turned her blond head toward me.

  “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Nicki?” She took another swig of her beer while she waited for my answer.

  I hesitated, and that seemed answer enough for her.

  “Probably not, hm? Why should you? You’ve got your own business, your own house…” Her voice trailed off, and she took another sip. “You don’t need a man to take care of you.”

  “See what I mean?” Michelle’s voice made me jump. She slid into the empty seat beside Debbie, watching her friend closely. I couldn’t help but notice she was dry again, looking much the way she had when I’d first seen her in the bridal shop.

  Debbie, of course, didn’t see her.

  “She doesn’t want to get married—she’s just doing it because she doesn’t think she has a choice,” Michelle said.

  “Everybody has a choice about whether or not to get married,” I said.

  Debbie, thinking I was talking to her, answered, “I know. But I love Dale—really I do.” Her voice sounded a little wistful, and she didn’t meet my eye.

  “Methinks she doth protest too much,” said Michelle. She leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms.

  I ignored the dead girl, and spoke to the live one.

  “You don’t have to go through with it if you don’t want to, Debbie,” I said softly.

  Debbie shrugged. “You sound like my friend Michelle.”

  “Wasn’t Michelle supposed to be in your wedding?”

  Debbie shot me a guilty look. “Well, yeah. But she got mad at me and drove home to Augusta. She hasn’t returned any of my calls.”

  “She’s been calling?” Michelle sat up.

  “I think she’s just jealous,” Debbie went on. “She claims she never liked Dale, but I think she has a crush on him.”

  Michelle gave a gasp of outrage, but Debbie didn’t hear it.

  “Why would you say a thing like that, Debbie?” Michelle seemed to have momentarily forgotten that Debbie couldn’t see or hear her.

  “Um, why would you say a thing like that?” I asked, on Michelle’s behalf.

  Debbie took another swig of her beer. “I don’t know—just the way she looks at him sometimes. Michelle doesn’t seem to have a lot of luck with guys. She goes for the flashy type, frat boys with money or football jocks with big shoulders and big egos. A couple of dates, and then they dump her. Dale’s not flashy, but he’s solid.”

  “Oh, he’s solid all right.” Michelle
was disgusted by Debbie’s assessment. “About as solid as a block of wood.” She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “And just as exciting.”

  “I think in her heart she wants a guy like Dale.” Debbie looked thoughtful, staring down at the battered tabletop, marred by years of spilled beer and cigarette burns. “Somebody to depend on. Somebody to grow old with.” She shrugged, toying with the label on her beer bottle. “Dale’s not perfect, but who is? Nobody’s perfect.”

  The jukebox seemed to be eavesdropping on our conversation, because right then Tammy Wynette started singing “Stand By Your Man”—an annoying song I’d always hated. If my man ever cheated on me, I wouldn’t be standing by him; I’d be standing on him, preferably while wearing a very sharp stiletto heel.

  “Michelle’s always been my best friend,” Debbie said. “I can’t believe she’s not here to help me celebrate.” Her lower lip quivered as she raised the bottle of beer again. After a few healthy swallows, she set it down empty.

  “I—I think I need to tell you something, Debbie.” I had no idea how I was supposed to explain to my cousin how I knew her best friend was dead, but things couldn’t go on like this.

  “No.” Michelle interrupted me. She leaned toward me, shaking her head emphatically. “You can’t tell her yet.”

  I looked at her, raising my eyebrows in question.

  Michelle shot Debbie a glance, then sighed. “She’s about to get married. I don’t want to ruin her wedding. Tell her afterward.”

  “And what about you?” Was I supposed to just let this poor girl’s unquiet spirit just hang out until the “I do’s” had been said?

  “I’m fine,” Debbie answered my question, thinking it was meant for her. “But I could use another beer.”

  Darlene chose that moment to lean in and say to her sister, “Well, look who’s here.” She tipped her bottle toward the door, and we all swiveled our heads to look. “I knew that man wouldn’t be able to resist crashing the party.”

  Two guys had just come in, both of them standing tall and scanning the room, obviously looking for someone. The better-looking of the two saw us first, his face splitting into a broad grin. He nudged his friend, nodding in our direction, and they made their way over to our table.