John got back in the Toyota. “What happens if we get pulled over and they find a Gold Flake in your pocket?”
“You weren't supposed to see that, but I only carry one. I could swallow it if I had to.”
John agreed. “I suppose.”
Henry nodded. “You know, I've never been pulled over, ever.”
“Me neither.”
Chapter Eleven
ON SUNDAY MORNING Olivia was sitting in her home office, going over the specifics of the young murder victim. She was tired as she yawned and stretched. No witnesses and no apparent reason for someone wanting her dead. And it wasn't a robbery either. When the detective talked to her fiancé via Skype he was devastated, could barely make him out through the sobs. His alibi was sound, wasn't even in the State of New York at the time of her death. But Olivia had to look under every stone or risk missing something important that would blow the case open.
Opening the file, Olivia stared at a photo of Anita, likely the object of her delusion. The human mind was a powerful thing but sometimes it went askew, and the gears just didn't mesh anymore. The results of attempting to diagnose oneself wouldn't end well. I mean, come on, ghosts can't be real. They just can't. Give your head a shake, Olivia.
Thank goodness there hadn't been any more hallucinations.
After this Olivia was going to take a month off. She hadn't had a vacation in two years. Head for the Bahamas and just sit on the beach. Yes, all she needed was some proper rest. She hadn't been sleeping well lately, and stress and lack of sleep could do funny things to a person. An aberration, as she had always been a good sleeper. Her mother had to pry her out of bed every morning to get her up for school. But something had changed–maybe Olivia should switch to decaf.
And, unfortunately, one couldn't shoot a hallucination.
She leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and almost immediately commenced snoring.
A young woman with a blank expression was sitting on a small bench, surrounded by flowers. The roses were the deepest red, even richer than seemed possible, swaying to and fro as a tree in the changing wind, almost magical. Anita was interrupted by a man with a dark shadow following him and after a brief conversation with the woman, he left.
Yellow butterflies with black trim surrounded Anita, and it was then Olivia realized it was the murder victim. They engulfed her and as they rose they took the young woman with them. They rose into the sky, slowly at first, and then she vanished into a giant thunderhead, with dozens of butterflies hurrying to catch up with the others.
The phone rang and woke the detective. “Hello?”
Olivia?
“Yes. Aunt Stella?”
“Yes, it's me. I've managed to get a look at your ghost.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don't play dumb. You know what I'm talking about. Come and see me and bring a photo of the deceased so I can make sure it's her.”
Click.
Olivia thought it strange as Aunt Stella never got up this early. Perhaps she hadn't gone to bed yet. She had hoped to leave this thing behind like a Ferrari passing a Volkswagen Beetle. She stretched, yawned, grabbed her keys, and headed out, but not before grabbing a cup of coffee.
Aunt Stella was prone on her sofa when she got there, a glass of red wine on the coffee table with the half-empty bottle of Layer Cake Pinot Noir 2013 nearby. Her hair looked as though it was in need of a proper brushing and Olivia thought it might be a challenge to get a rake through it. Was she inebriated?
“Show it to me.”
The detective handed her the file that contained a single photo of the face of the deceased, and with no hesitation Aunt Stella said, “Um, that's her all right. Tried to contact her but she's much confused; she knows she's dead but not much beyond that. Something very different about this one, um something I've never seen before. Almost as if she's a medium on the other side. Never seen the likes of her before.”
“Did she say or show you anything?”
“Nothing. Um, you can get out now. I'm going to bed. Five readings last night–an old fellow who cried like a baby when I brought forth his wife, clear as you are right now.”
Chapter Twelve
ANITA WALKED AND AS SHE WALKED she found herself staring up at a flock of tropical-looking birds in a tree. They were paradise tanagers; native to French Guiana and Guyana, Bolivia, Brazil, and eastern Columbia. Beautiful birds with pale green faces, blue breasts, and purple chins. One lit on her shoulder and then flew off. She just lay on the grass, watching and listening for quite a while. It was serene, and she appreciated the beauty of it all.
Anita came to 25-year-old Timothy Anderson, observing his brown hair with deep blue eyes and a nicely trimmed brown beard, wearing black shorts and no shirt. He looked naturally muscular, though she thought he must have worked out in life. He reminded her of Joshua Lee Holloway, Sawyer, from the television series Lost. It wasn't him, but it looked as if it could be his brother if Joshua had a brother. He was sitting on a chair whittling a walking stick, and it was beautiful. At the top of the cane was a bearded black man wearing a hood. This guy was very talented.
“That is so beautiful,” said Anita. “You're so talented. I'm Anita.”
“I'm Tim and thank you. A creative thing that gives me a lot of satisfaction. I guess it can be kinda funny, what things give us pleasure.”
“What kind of wood is that?”
“If I told you that it might bark at you would you be able to guess?” Tim had an attractive smile.
She shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“It's Dogwood.”
Anita nodded. “That makes sense. How are you able to carve such a perfect face? It looks familiar.”
Tim nodded, and he was not unaware of her beauty–he tried not to stare. “It's Nelson Mandela, though I added the beard and the hood, not sure why. My grandfather had me carving when I was six, so I've had a lot of practice. He's still amongst the living, ninety-five now.”
“Wow, ninety-five is a good long life. I didn't even make it to twenty-five. Wish I could carve like that.”
“There's an infinite amount of time to practice if you are so inclined.”
She considered it briefly. “No, I don't think so. That's just not my thing.” She liked Tim instantly, just something about him. Funny how some people just connected like that. Maybe they knew each other in a past life? Nothing would surprise her after ending up here. Anita would consider lots of things now that she wouldn't have before. In truth, she was quite attracted to him and felt a little guilty about it. But Anita was dead and hoped Curt had a long and happy life. His grief would take time to ebb, years perhaps; she hoped it would be a lot sooner. Could one have a relationship here?
“Anita, what was your dream in life?”
“I was preparing for University to become a teacher, just the little ones, though. Teens can be pretty rough and even dangerous.” She thought about how that sounded since she was dead, and gave her head a shake.
“I was making a living with my carving. It's great when you're getting paid for doing something that you love to do. Just makes life that much easier. Killed by a drunk driver with no license.” He examined the detail of the walking stick. “And that's it, finished. I think.”
“Very nice. Will you do others?” Since no one needed a cane here, she wondered about that. She imagined that people would still appreciate such beautiful work.
“Yes, but not right now. Would you like to see a movie with me? Or do you have something else planned?”
Anita also wondered why he hadn't gone into the light but decided not to ask. A lot of people were frightened to take that next step. “Can you see movies here?”
“Sure, you can do lots of things. You'll get the hang of it soon enough.”
And now there was a movie theater beside them, complete with a parking lot full of cars. They saw Star Wars The Force Awakens, loved it, and ate lots of popcorn. Back outside they stopped to talk. She never had
to worry about calories now, not that she had all that much.
“Can people kiss here?”
Tim laughed. “They can, and they do. I can kiss you if you'd like to see how it feels. You know, just to show you what it's like.”
An uncomfortable silence. Again Anita felt guilty, knowing her family was grieving her death, but there was absolutely nothing she could do about that. Oh, he's sneaky. But why not, can't hurt anything. And I brought it up. “Okay, I guess.”
They got closer to one another and she could feel the warmness of his soul. Anita felt awkward kissing a stranger, but maybe it would comfort her. She tilted her head, and they kissed, and it was like fireworks in the movies. Neither of them had expected that. They were both speechless. Something familiar about their affections to one another, they both thought. Had they shared love in a past life? If they did, they were unable to remember.
But then, abruptly, Anita found herself at the Apple Mountain Resort and Golf Club in Clarkesville, Georgia, on the 18th hole. The sudden change of scenery was startling. She didn't appreciate jumping away from Tim and had no interest in the game of golf, though she had to admit the place was beautiful. Two gentlemen were just finishing on the last hole, the bald one making a twelve-foot putt, though it was more luck than not. They had a light glow to them, much like the garbage can. The fellow in the top hat was back. He smiled at her and nodded. Was she supposed to see something? Or try to do something? A spirit couldn't affect anything here on Earth, could they? Why didn't he just come over and explain things?
Anita tried to run over to the guy with the hat to say what the hell, but when she got there he was on the other side of the green where she had been. Evidently, he wasn't in a talking mood. The bald guy left with his friend and she felt compelled to follow.
I don't know what the hell the point is in all this. Maybe I was enjoying Tim's company a little too much, but I don't think that's it. They moved across the parking lot toward the car, with their clubs over their shoulders, and suddenly she was back with Tim.
“Where did you go?” he asked.
Anita smiled at him and his gorgeous blue eyes. “That's what I'd like to know. This guy in a top hat pulls me here and there. I was on a golf course back on Earth. I don't know what's going on. Maybe I saw my killers, but I'm not sure of anything at this point.”
“That is strange. No one has ever done that to me. I talk to people, but that's about it. Would you like to keep me company for a while?”
She thought about that and didn't have anything else to do except to explore. “What do you want to do?”
“Well, we could sit on the beach and watch the boats. And talk.”
“That sounds nice.” She thought about how good that kiss had felt, as genuine as any she'd ever had on Earth. He could indeed distract her from all those negative thoughts.
Chapter Thirteen
JACKSON PORTER OF THE LAW FIRM, PORTER, GORDON, AND HICKS sat at his desk, waiting for her to arrive. She was never late, though currently five minutes behind schedule. He could only imagine that something serious had occurred to delay her arrival. He didn't tolerate anyone being behind their time, but with her he would have to make an exception. Jackson looked up from his desk and saw Sherryl Fox, gestured for her to enter and have a seat. The office was crowded with New York Yankees memorabilia: two signed balls, one by Mickey Mantle and the other Don Mattingly, a jersey signed by the entire team of the 2009 World Series champions, and a baseball card signed by the Babe.
Fifty-eight-year-old Sheryl looked stylish in her black Armani suit–dressed to kill, some might say. Her hair was colored red, and she had a devilish smile as if she knew something nasty that no one else did. Some said that a stern look from Sherryl could knock a plane out of the sky.
“Sherryl, have a seat.”
She sat and crossed her legs. “I can't stay long as I'm off to Greece tomorrow morning, and I still have two loose ends to tie up.”
“I take it that it is a fait accompli?”
“Unfortunately, yes, the problem has been eliminated. I dislike having innocents killed but sometimes it is a necessary evil. It's just the way of the world.”
“I hear that you charged me ten thousand more than the one in 2013?”
“Yes, my rates have gone up, inflation I guess.”
“You only give the orders so how hard can it be?”
“The devil is in the details.”
The devil is in you, Jackson thought. He tapped his diamond encrusted pen on his desk. “I suppose you'll be wanting your bonus as discussed?”
“Yes, without it I wouldn't have agreed to this one. They need to be done correctly, so I don't agree to do too many. And I can assure you that I was pressed for time.”
He opened his desk and pulled out a six hundred thousand dollar bottle of The Macallan, a large bottle of whiskey, and one of the most searched for spirits in the world. The bottle was pretty much a piece of art: twenty-eight inches tall, a crystal decanter that contained six liters of the precious liquid. He had come by it from a professional thief he'd hired, who apparently didn't know what he had found, and Jackson snapped it up and offered it to seal the deal.
“I'll treasure this.”
“You damn well better for the price I paid for it.”
Sherryl shook her head. “Don't try to outfox a fox. I know who had it, so I know where you got it. You paid nothing for it, though I am surprised that you gave it up.”
Jackson shrugged. “Sacrifices are sometimes necessary for business.”
She laughed. “Now when the former owner calls to whine about his stolen bottle I shall stroke it and smile. I have never seen such a blowhard–complains about everything.”
Chapter Fourteen
ANITA AND TIM WERE SITTING ON A TROPICAL BEACH, watching a sailboat in the distance, the warm water rolling ashore. Not many things were prettier than the warm blue ocean and palm trees. They were both under the shade of one that hung over them like a big umbrella, though there was no need to worry about sunburns now. She could get accustomed to such a peaceful existence, no aches or pains of lugging around a heavy body. Anita wondered if her energy was now one with the universe. Such an enigmatic thought made her shake her head.
“Where did you live?” Tim asked.
Anita twirled the green umbrella in her Pina Colada, swirling the ice. She took a sip of the white rum. “I was born in Texas, but my parents moved to Orlando when I was five, so all of my memories are from the Sunshine State.”
Tim nodded. “We pretty much spent our whole lives in California, though we did visit relatives in New Mexico quite often.”
They both watched as a white tiger trotted across the white sand, glancing at them for the briefest moment. How wonderful it was not to fear anything. She saw a mother and a baby elephant earlier that morning. Of course, it was perfect for God to let the animals wander here and not just in heaven.
“So how long have you been here and why haven't you gone into the light?”
He gazed at her and smiled. “You're not going to leave it alone, are you? Not sure how long I've been here, ten years maybe? Anyway, when I was a teenager, I did a lot of things I shouldn't have, including robbing and attacking a man in a parking lot. I didn't kill him, but I hurt him pretty bad. So it might be best that I just stay here. I became a different person when I turned eighteen, but I could have ended up in prison if my grandfather hadn't helped me change my ways. When he talked, you listened.”
Shelden appeared near where the waves were rolling in on the beach, and he didn't seem particularly happy to see Anita and Tim together. The man in the top hat materialized beside him, and they exchanged words; they appeared to be arguing about something. The fellow waved his hand and Shelden vanished.
“Is that the guy you were telling me about?” It had looked to Tim as if he might be important. Tim couldn't wave his hand and make anyone vanish. “Do you know the other fellow?”
“I don't know either one. Well,
Shelden has been popping in and out since I got here; maybe he likes me I'm not sure. And Mr. Peanut or whatever his name is, he pulls me different places but so far won't talk to me. Why he does it, I have no idea. Connected to my death, I imagine.”
The fellow in the top hat nodded to her and then also disappeared.
Tim's eyebrows tightened. “That was strange.”
Anita nodded and looked to her left where she could see the white light. “Want to see something even more strange?” She got up and went over to the light, tried to put her hand inside but still couldn't, as it was solid. She kicked the entrance to heaven and Tim could hear the thump from where he was.
Tim was surprised to see that. “That is weird. So you're the one who can't go into the light? Everyone is talking about you.”
Anita went back to her chair. “So I've heard. I guess everyone can go in except me.”
Tim was looking at her differently now, not sure what to make of it or her. Why would she be so unique? Was she destined for hell? Now he was just a little suspicious of her. This place should come with a manual so that I can figure all the ins and outs. And a description of everyone here would be helpful. “Maybe the guy in the hat has answers for you?”
“Well, if he does why doesn't he just talk to me?” Anita gazed at his expression. “You see me differently now? You don't like me anymore?”
“I like you plenty.” Tim didn't want to admit it so soon, but it was out now.
They finished their drinks and Tim stood and extended his hand to her, proceeding on the beach for a walk, hand in hand. Anita tried to send her family dreams of what it was like here and that she was okay, but had no idea if it worked.
“Aw, he likes me plenty.”
Anita was already wondering how long she'd been here. No concept of time here. They stopped, and she stared into his eyes, getting lost in them. Day instantly turned to night, with a big full moon on the horizon, and again they kissed, long and passionate. And again thoughts of her melancholy family forced their way into her mind. She pushed them out, at least, for now.
I Was Murdered Last Night (Olivia Brown Mysteries Book 1) Page 5
