Jennifer Fischetto - Dead by the Numbers 01 - One Garish Ghost & Blueberry Peach Jam

by Jennifer Fischetto

  Mine and Micky’s wedding pops to mind. “Cute age.”

  “Yes. You may want to hurry. You only have about twenty minutes.”

  It’s my turn to be confused. “Until what?”

  “Until you have to leave for the party.”

  “That’s tonight?”

  “Yeah, is that a problem?”

  I glance at Cup…Emma, who’s grinning like an idiot. “Uh, no, that’s fine. I wasn’t expecting it.”

  The phone rings. As Danielle reaches to grab it, she points to the mysterious door everyone’s been using. “There’s a bathroom through there. Second door on the right. You can change in there.”

  “Right.” I lift the box into my arms as she answers the phone.

  “Jolly Time, how may I help you?”

  I glare at Emma and nod at her to follow. It’s her fault I’m in this mess, and she’s my ticket to finding a way out. First, she’s going to help me figure out what to wear. One party. I can quit after. How hard can this be?

  * * *

  After I’m dressed in black and white polka dot shorts with a bright pink and lime green striped, ruffled blouse, white knee-high socks, a silky straight, purple wig, and bright makeup, with white face, I’m ready. I feel incredibly foolish, but it gives me a great idea on how to scare Enzo.

  Since I don’t have proper shoes, Timothy Jenkins, a.k.a. Bobo, allows me to go in my black high-top Converse sneakers. ‘Cause that’s a pretty picture. He also offers to give me a ride, so I leave my car at the agency.

  We arrive at the location, and I notice another car pull in and park behind Timothy. Sure enough, a man dressed as a clown gets out. Timothy introduces me to Wesley Vaughn, also known as Rooster, and he explains it’s just the three of us tonight.

  “If you get unsure or nervous, follow our lead.” He looks skeptical as to whether or not I’ll be able to pull this off. He’s not the only one. Hopefully, I won’t shame him so badly he’ll have to close up shop.

  I’m not feeling very confident, so it could happen. Luckily Cupcake’s by my side. As long as she doesn’t see a cute guy, I should be fine.

  “What’s your name?” Rooster asks me.

  “It’s Gianna.”

  He smiles, and despite the eerie makeup, it makes him look endearing. “No, your clown name.”

  Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. I look around the area trying to get inspired, but all I see is gravel, the side of the fortress the Convoy’s call a house, and a patch of grass with dandelions.

  A thought comes to mind. “Um, Daisy.”

  The guys nod.

  “Let’s go,” Bobo says and directs his oversized shoes toward the house.

  “Why Daisy?” Cupcake asks.

  I slow my pace and whisper, “‘Cause I’m like pushing up daisies.”

  She laughs, and I suddenly feel like she’s on my side. Maybe this evening won’t be as embarrassing as I think.

  We walk along the side of the huge rectangular house to the backyard. Timothy opens the side gate, and I see what the privileged live like. The enormous backyard has been transformed with a huge bouncy house, a multi-colored tent, tables for food, and train tracks that circle the yard and make pit stops at each of the main areas.

  Jasper Conroy’s fifth birthday party is like nothing I’ve ever seen. In my family a backyard birthday means Pin the Tail on the Donkey, balloons Scotch-taped to the house, and Ma worrying that there’s not enough food even though she spent two days making tray after tray of Italian delights.

  Bobo speaks with Mrs. Conroy, a petite blond with severely angular features, and I wander over to the tent, curious what’s inside. The children haven’t arrived yet. The only sounds are slight chatter from several people dressed in khaki pants and red polo shirts who are decorating the yard.

  I peek into the tent and see a woman setting up paints and brushes at a table. Face painting. I should’ve had her do my makeup because I’m pretty sure my mouth is crooked.

  Within ten minutes, the guests arrive, and every child that’s ever been born has been invited. Surely Timothy doesn’t think only three clowns is enough. But I spot the pony and a magician, and I’m able to breathe easier.

  While Timothy creates balloon animals, I act silly. Whatever the heck that means. I think back to six. I liked to be scared. I envision myself throwing up my hands, curling my fingers, and growling. I giggle, but the small group of kids gathered around me do not. I guess scaring the munchkins won’t help the business.

  Cupcake starts doing cartwheels.

  I haven’t done gymnastics since elementary school, so that’s not happening.

  “Hey, do you do anything?” a little girl asks.

  Startled and suddenly scared the kids will gang up on the lonely clown, I say, “Watch this.” Screw it. What’s a few broken bones?

  I copy Cupcake but not nearly as gracefully, and I’m pretty sure my legs aren’t straight when in the air, but at least I don’t land on my head. And the kids start laughing, so score.

  I spend the rest of the afternoon copying Cupcake—chicken dances—now that’s up my alley, minus the twerking—spinning around until I’m dizzy, sloppy cartwheels, and off-key singing, which isn’t pretend. At one point, I have most of the kids watching. Me.

  When it’s time for cake, our job is done. Timothy finds me behind the tent catching my breath.

  “I am so happy I hired you. You’re a natural.” He holds out a bottle of water, but he’s frowning at me.

  “Is something wrong?” I ask.

  “You remind me of someone.”

  Yikes. Perhaps I copied Cupcake too well.

  While he goes off to speak with Mrs. Conroy, I find a private spot in the yard to speak to my ghostly friend.

  “So spill. Have you slept with your co-worker and boss too?”

  If ghosts still had emotions, I’d swear she’s blushing. “Timothy, yes, but not Wesley. He and I are good friends.” She scrunches up her nose.

  “What?”

  “I think I was at his house the night I died.”

  “You went there after the bar?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “I’m not sure. My memory is so hazy. Maybe I’m thinking of another night.”

  Or maybe not. “And you’re just friends?”

  She nods. “Wesley’s been good to me. Like a big brother. He listens to me. Plus, he’s engaged to Danielle.”

  I raise one brow and stare at her. “The Jolly Time receptionist?”

  Cupcake nods. “She also works as a clown.”

  “Okay, but since when does being attached mean you keep your hands off them?”

  “Fine. But Wesley and I aren’t like that.”

  I have no reason to think she’s lying. She’s been up-front so far. If she was at Wesley’s house that night, then surely he knows something. I’ll need to get him away from Timothy to question him though.

  “Does Timothy have a significant other?”

  “No. He’s single.”

  Well that’s something.

  Timothy and Wesley gather around me. Timothy gives me a half grin. “Why don’t you stop by the agency, and we’ll see about getting you more gigs.”

  And I really thought I’d only have to suffer through the one. I’m about to decline but Izzie’s face comes to mind. I need to do this for her. “Cool.”

  I turn to Wesley. “Would you mind giving me a ride back to the agency to get my car?”

  “Sure. Let’s go.” No one seems to question why I’m playing musical cars.

  Cupcake, however, decides to climb into Timothy’s passenger seat. She gives me a wink before they take off.

  During the ride, I try to steer the conversation around to Cupcake, but something keeps holding me back. Wesley seems so nice, and I don’t want to upset him. And if he and Cupcake are as close as she says, he must be going through hell. Part of me is skeptical though, so I want to test it out.

  “I’m sorry about the loss in the agency. I’d met her shortly before he
r death.”

  He nods, keeping his eyes on the road. “Emma was one of those lost souls. She jumped around trying to find herself, but deep down she was very generous and passionate about life. I’m going to miss her.”

  He sounds genuine. Is it possible they were just friends? But if she had been at his place that night, a nice guy would’ve told the cops. Would they still have questioned Izzie and me? Probably. So I don’t know if they did or didn’t.

  As Wesley turns onto the agency’s street, I come up with a plan. I slip my phone out of my purse and allow it to fall from my fingers between the door and seat. Maybe not my brightest move. Being without my phone will be like cutting off a limb, but it’s better than leaving behind my wallet. And I don’t think misplacing a stick of gum will be important enough for me to retrieve right away.

  He pulls up next to my car. “You did great tonight. It’s nice to be working with you.”

  “Thanks. I’ll see you soon.” Sooner than you realize. I get out, and as I shut his door, I notice the tip of my cell peeking out from beneath the seat.

  I get into my car, turn the ignition, and drive home. How long do I have to wait until I get my baby back?

  CHAPTER TEN

  When I get home I go upstairs to a quiet apartment. I’m alone. No Billy. No Cupcake…Emma. Just me and the obnoxious stench. Normally that would be an occasion to celebrate, but I’m too anxious about my phone. Yes, I am clearly a product of my generation. I pace a good ten, maybe eight, minutes and run downstairs to the deli.

  It’s a couple of hours until closing and not very busy. Pop works these last hours alone, and when I enter through the back the kitchen is empty.

  I walk to the kitchen door and peek through the glass panel. Pop is handing change to a young woman in biker shorts and a sports bra. As the woman leaves, Pop leans over the counter to watch her go.

  No! That’s not what I want to see. Ma would never let him hear the end of it if she caught him checking out some babe’s butt.

  He takes a rag and wipes down the counter. The rest of the store is empty. Perfect.

  I stand on my tiptoes, press my palms against the door’s solid wood frame, and align my face in the round window. Careful not to lean on the door and make it swing out, I wait. Hopefully, he’ll turn around before my calf muscles cramp up and give me a charley horse.

  I sing “Tomorrow” in my head, the first song that pops up. Can’t imagine why. And just when “the sun will come up,” Pop turns.

  His eyes widen, and he flinches. Hard. Then he yells, “Fungule.”

  I laugh and push open the door. “Pop, you never curse.” Especially not the F-bomb.

  “I’ve never seen my daughter dressed as Penny Wise. Aren’t I too old to scare?” He lays a hand over his chest, and I panic.

  Marone, is he sick? Is his ticker weak? I am a horrible daughter.

  I notice the smirk lifting one corner of his mouth and realize he’s messing with me. I snatch the towel from the counter and snap it against the deli case.

  “Pop, you can’t scare me like that.”

  He raises his brows. “Gotcha!”

  I groan. “Gosh, you’re as terrible as your son. Wonder where he gets it from.”

  Pop’s laughter follows me back into the kitchen, to the cramped closet they call an office. I pick up the landline, which is one of those old-fashioned phones with the push buttons. Ma says we should be grateful it doesn’t have a dial.

  I punch in the numbers to the agency and pray Danielle is still there. It feels weird asking her for her fiancé‘s phone number, but it has to be done. I need my phone back.

  It rings four times before a male voice answers. “Jolly Time.”

  I’m thrown for a second, and say, “Timothy? It’s Gianna. I’m hoping you can help me. I left my phone in Wesley’s car on the way back from the party. Can you give me his number?”

  “Sure.” He doesn’t hesitate, just searches and rattles off the digits.

  I thank him, hang up, and call Wesley.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Wesley, this is Gianna. I think I lost my phone in your car. Either that or at the party. I hope it’s in your car.” I’m rambling. I ramble when I’m nervous. And lying makes me nervous.

  “Hang on. Let me check.”

  A door opens and shuts and footsteps are heavy against…gravel? The ding of a car door sounds.

  “Yeah, I found it,” he says.

  “Oh great. Would you mind if I swung by now to pick it up. I’m lost without it.”

  “No problem.”

  I grab a chewed up pencil, tear off a scrap of paper from a pad, and scribble down his address. “Great, thanks. I’ll be right there.”

  I hang up, scream “‘Night” to Pop, and hurry out to my car.

  Wesley lives on the other side of town. The side where the cramped, two-story homes turn into oversized, modern sculptures of architecture. His sprawling glass and concrete McMansion, which is modest compared to several others in the area, is up on a hill. I pull into a gravel-filled driveway right behind his car and get out.

  Between his house and the unattached garage I catch a glimpse of the sun setting low in the horizon, but before I get a chance to step forward and get a better look, the front door opens, and Wesley steps out. He’s changed into a smoking jacket, loose-fitting pants, and slippers. All he needs is a pipe. He’s holding my phone. Shoot, I was hoping for a look inside. Not to be rushed away.

  “This is a gorgeous house. Do you live here alone?”

  His smile is bright. “Yes. My family has done very well for themselves. They live in Greenwich, Connecticut.”

  I nearly choke on my spit. Now that neighborhood makes this one look like the slums.

  “And you play clown?”

  He grins. “I’m a history teacher at the high school. But I enjoy making people laugh, and while others are scared of clowns, they always made me smile. I figure I should pass that on, right?”

  Wow, he’s so sweet I’m getting a toothache. “Absolutely. So thanks for letting me get the phone now. I hope I’m not interrupting plans or anything.” Hint, hint, invite me inside.

  “No, I’m waiting for my fiancée. You must’ve met her. Danielle. We’re going to grill some steaks and stay in tonight.”

  I don’t respond. I stare at his house and do my best to lick my chops without actually licking them. I must be pulling off the dazed yet eager look because he finally says, “Would you like to come in and have a tour?”

  I’m sure my eyes light up. Honestly. “I’d love to. Thanks.”

  He leads the way through the front door, and I step into another world. Two-story ceiling with windows just as tall. I’d hate to be the one having to clean them. A low-hanging chandelier illuminates the delicate swirl patter in the light gray floor tile, and a semi-circular staircase takes up most of the foyer. We step down into the living room where a black baby grand piano sits by a white stone fireplace.

  On the mantle are three photographs. One is of Wesley and Danielle. They’re smiling brightly into the camera. The wind blows Danielle’s long brown hair into her face, and they’re both squinting. The picture is so alive and captures their happiness. It’s no wonder why he chose that one to display. It’s vivid and beautiful. The second is of a family of five—two parents and three children. I assume one of the kids is Wesley as a child. And the final photograph is of Wesley as a man with an older gentleman that is his spitting image. Probably his father.

  There’s an open floor plan to the rest of the house that allows me to see the dark mahogany table and chairs in the dining room and the gleaming steel appliances, cherry wood, and granite counters in the kitchen.

  The walls are mostly glass and every view is breathtaking, even the front one that looks onto his quiet street. But the one out back displays a strip of sand below, and where the ocean meets the sky they seem to meld together.

  “This is beautiful,” I say. I bet most other teachers-slash-clowns don’t
live this way.

  “I’m very lucky,” he says, as if reading my mind.

  The front door opens, and I whirl around to see Danielle. She’s holding a green canvas bag, and there’s a loaf of French bread and what looks like a bottle of wine poking out the top.

  She smiles at me. “Hi, Gianna. I was wondering whose car is parked in the driveway. It looks familiar, but I’ve been so scattered today I couldn’t remember if I saw it parked at the agency, the grocery store, or the restaurant.”

  Wesley walks over to her and gives her a firm kiss on the lips. “Too many engagement details?”

  She pouts. “Exactly.” She pulls from his embrace and speaks to me. “I’m finalizing the plans for our engagement party. Wesley feels we should still go ahead with it in two weeks, even though…with Emma being gone…” Her voice trails off.

  Wesley wraps an arm around Danielle’s shoulders. “Emma would want us to be happy. She was always about partying and having fun.”

  We have five seconds of silence and I ask, “Oh, are you recently engaged?”

  They both smile. Danielle’s wattage could set off a car alarm. She holds up her hand and shows off a square-cut diamond so huge it must add five pounds to her weight. “A week and a half ago. During dinner. He surprised me.”

  I try not to think of Hilary and Kevin.

  “Have you set a date yet?”

  Wesley raises his brows. “She’s holding out.”

  Danielle playfully swats his chest. “I want to enjoy my engagement. I’ve fantasized about this my entire life. All girls do, right?”

  I smile. If she’s looking for support there, I’m the wrong girl. I fantasized about being able to openly speak to ghosts without being labeled as a freak or crazy. Poufy white dresses weren’t at the forefront of that dream.

  “Why are you here?” she asks.

  I hold up my phone. “Wesley gave me a ride home from the party, and I left this in his car. It’s my lifeline. I had to get it back immediately.”

  She smiles. “I know exactly what you mean. If I leave my apartment without my phone, I have to go back to get it.”