Drop Dead Beauty

by Wendy Roberts

  Sadie thought she was ready, but by the time she’d finished the physical examination by her doctor she felt like he owed her dinner at a French restaurant. Also, she had so much information in paper form in her hands and floating around inside her head that she thought she was going to explode.

  “It’s a lot to absorb at first,” Maeva told her when they got back to her car. “But it’ll all be fine. You’ll see.”

  Next, Maeva took Sadie to the mall.

  “Before we visit Rudie, we need to replace your cell phone so you can join the rest of dysfunctional society.”

  Half an hour later they left the mall with her new phone set up under her old account. Text messages and e-mails began to roll in, and as Sadie buckled up into the passenger seat, she cursed.

  “That’s another thing you’ll have to give up,” Maeva pointed out. “Swearing is a big no-no. Good thing you have a lot of time to change your vocabularly before the baby starts to talk. You can wait a year or so before you start replacing shit for ship.”

  “I’ve got three missed calls from Owen,” Sadie said.

  “Shit,” Maeva said. “You’d better call him.” She began to drive toward their next destination.

  “I can’t just call him up on the phone and say, ‘You know that time you came over and we had sex multiple times? Well, remember that one time you didn’t use a condom?’”

  “Just start by calling him up and asking when he’s coming into town next, and then you can decide exactly how and when to tell him.”

  “Good plan. But I’ll just text him instead of calling.” Sadie began texting away and then hit send.

  “So what did you say?” Maeva asked.

  “I said I’m really busy with work this week and I’ll talk to him in a few days.”

  “Chicken.”

  “Got that right.”

  Sadie’s phone chimed twice and Maeva raised her eyebrows.

  “One message is from Owen saying he’ll call me later. He’s very persistent.” Sadie sighed. “The next message is from Zack saying he’s looking forward to our movie date and asking if I’ve decided on a show yet.”

  “You can’t be dating Zack while you know you’re pregnant with another man’s baby!” Maeva shouted. Then she added in a calmer voice, “You need to tell him immediately; then give him time to absorb the news before you go on another date with him.”

  “So who gets told first then? Zack or Owen?”

  “Both. Preferably in the next twenty-four hours.” She accelerated into traffic and shook her head. “Today we’re going to see what we can do to help out with your psychic dilemma, and tomorrow I’m going to help you to tell people. And when I say people, I mean everyone: Zack, Owen, your sister, and your mom.”

  “What!”

  “This is a rip-the-bandage-off-quick situation,” Maeva advised wisely. “You’ll feel better once everyone knows.”

  Sadie used up every curse word in her vocabulary and then said, “I doubt that’ll make anything better.”

  Soon Maeva steered her car to the curb near the corner of Thomas Street and First Avenue downtown. They got out of the car and Sadie glanced warily at the sign.

  KING CITY POTTERY HUT. Underneath in script it said, Unleash Your Creativity!

  “I really don’t need anything ceramic. The last time I tried to make something out of clay it was an ashtray in first grade that looked more like a deformed pancake.”

  “We’re not here for pottery,” Maeva replied. “Rudie Hernon owns this place and he’s someone who might be able to help you. He helps all kinds of psychics, mediums, and sensitives when they’re having skill troubles.”

  “How does he do that?”

  “Every case is different.”

  Once inside Sadie and Maeva stopped short. There were five or six rectangular tables crammed with a couple dozen shrieking ten-year-olds. The room smelled of wet clay, paint, and the sweat of prepubescent youths. The noise level was deafening.

  Maeva waved to someone across the room. When she headed in that direction Sadie followed. They stopped at a wall of floor-to-ceiling shelving where a very short man was stocking vases in various colors.

  “Rudie,” Maeva called out over the sound of children’s squeals.

  The guy straightened to his full height, which was about four foot eleven. He wore Coke-bottle-thick glasses and had a black mole on his cheek that had a long thick hair growing from it.

  “Maeva!” the man exclaimed. He stepped forward and hugged Maeva around the waist and then reached up and punched her playfully on the shoulder. “You were supposed to bring little Osbert here so I could meet him. I’ve only seen the pictures you’ve posted on Facebook.”

  “I’ll bring him by soon,” Maeva promised. She turned and introduced Sadie and had to raise her voice to be heard over the excited squeals from the tables behind them.

  “My friend’s been having some trouble and I told her you're the man,” Maeva explained to Rudie.

  “As you can see”—he waved his stubby arms at the mass of children—“right now I’m a busy man. You should’ve made an appointment.” Over his shoulder he shouted, “No throwing clay!” And then to an older woman chatting on her cell phone in the corner, he added, “Hey! Supervise them, will ya?”

  Sulkily the older woman stuffed her phone into the pocket of her stretchy pants and snapped a wad of gum as she shuffled over to the kids and did her best to keep them under control.

  “You’re absolutely right,” Maeva agreed. “And we wouldn’t’ve bothered you if it wasn’t an emergency.”

  “This is your emergency?” He eyed Sadie up and down.

  “Yes, that’s her.”

  Sadie shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other while Rudie looked her over. Abruptly the short mole man snaked his hand out and grabbed Sadie’s fingers in his. He enveloped one of her hands in both of his, which were cool, clammy, and covered in bits of clay. At least Sadie hoped it was clay and not some kind of flaking skin infection. She shuddered.

  “Let go of her hand, Rudie,” Maeva instructed.

  “It’s okay,” Sadie said. “If he needs to hold my hand to get some kind of a reading off me, I’m okay with it.”

  Rudie still held her hand in both of his and was staring up at her intently. Sadie looked down into his eyes and tried not to stare at the hairy mole.

  “Rudie doesn’t read people. He’s just getting his rocks off by holding your hand,” Maeva said dryly.

  “Eww!” Sadie squealed, retracting her fingers.

  “It was worth a shot.” Rudie shrugged.

  Rudie took off to the other side of the room, weaving between tables of giggling kids to reach the old lady. He talked to her a minute and she looked over Rudie’s shoulder toward Maeva and Sadie and offered them a curious stare.

  “That’s Rudie’s mother,” Maeva said quietly. “She works with him here.”

  Rudie returned and nodded to a door in the back.

  “Okay, let’s head upstairs while Momma is handling the rug rats down here.”

  They went through the door and entered a stockroom with floor-to-ceiling shelves on three sides. Each shelf was jammed with ceramic pieces in various stages of readiness. At the back of the room they turned and went up a steep set of stairs that opened into an apartment on the second level.

  The apartment was small and had an odd medicinal smell. They went to a kitchen nook in the front room and all sat down at a square table so small their knees touched beneath.

  “Okay, lay it on me,” Rudie said.

  “Well, Sadie’s a psychic medium who helps spirits move on when they’re stuck here after passing,” Maeva explained.

  “Okay.” Rudie turned to Sadie. “These ghosts just show up to you and say ‘help’ and you go ‘okay’ and wave a magic wand, or what?”

 
“Um. No. That would be weird.” Sadie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She wasn’t used to sharing her so-called talent with others. She preferred to keep it under wraps like the fact that she was suddenly craving a bacon and peanut butter sandwich. “I run a trauma-cleanup company and I get calls to clean up after deaths of all kinds, and occasionally there are lingering spirits. If they talk to me I’ll try and help them move on.”

  “How do you help them?” he asked.

  “If they have a reason for staying behind—like unfinished business or something—I’ll help with that, and then I just convince them to let go of this world, and usually it just happens.”

  “And you’ve done this all your life?”

  “No,” Maeva answered on Sadie’s behalf. “It started when her brother took his own life a few years ago. She was a grade school teacher before then and nobly accepted the calling of running a company called Scene-2-Clean to purify the physical and spiritual remains after someone passes from the physical world.”

  “Thanks,” Sadie said. “That’s a really nice way to put it.”

  “Sounds like a great way to make a living and still answer your calling,” Rudie said.

  “It is.” Sadie nodded. “At least, it was.” She sighed. “Now things have gotten weird.”

  Because talking to the dead really wasn’t weird to her anymore, but feeling them was—and that was the strangest thing of all.

  Chapter 5

  Maeva went on to explain Sadie’s situation to Rudie.

  “Sadie’s pregnant and it’s messing with her senses. Now, in addition to seeing the spirits she also feels the pain of their demise. Obviously that’s a real drawback when you make your living cleaning up after the dead.”

  “That must suck,” Rudie said, his eyebrows shooting upward.

  “You have no idea the degree of suckage,” Sadie assured him. “Maeva tells me that this is basically a temporary situation due to pregnancy hormones, but I can’t afford to take time off work until this passes. I’ve gotta make hay while the sun shines and all that.”

  “But in your case the hay is dead people and, sometimes, their ghosts?” Rudie stated. “Would anybody like tea?” He got up and filled up a kettle with water.

  Maeva said she’d like a cup but Sadie passed because she hated tea and considered it the beverage of grief and despair. Rudie offered Maeva a choice of multiple flavors of teas and they discussed their favorites. Sadie got impatient and brought the conversation back to her own selfish motives.

  “I don’t mean to interrupt, but Maeva tells me you might be able to help with my problem. I’ve got a suicide to clean up and I’d love to be able to do it without experiencing a drug overdose myself.”

  Rudie poured hot water into a teapot. “Fine,” he said curtly. “We’ll get the show on the road while the tea steeps.”

  He got to his feet and straightened to his not-so-full height of four foot eleven, then crossed the room. He glanced over his shoulder at them.

  “Well? Aren’t you coming?”

  Sadie and Maeva got to their feet and followed Rudie down a short hall, where he used a key to open what Sadie assumed was the door to a bedroom.

  “You’re very lucky to be invited into the inner sanctum,” Maeva whispered in Sadie’s ear as they stepped inside a pitch-black room. “Few ever have this kind of opportunity.”

  Once inside the room Rudie flicked on a light that did little to brighten the dark gray flooring banked by equally near-black walls.

  Sadie let out a low whistle as she stepped toward the middle of the room. She looked around at the floor-to-ceiling narrow shelving buried three and four deep with bottles and canisters of various sizes, shapes, and colors. The room was heavy with a musty, pungent stench that was a cross between expired luncheon meat and Hairy’s litter box. There was one small window in the room, but it was covered in room darkening curtains and only a small finger of light was able to sneak through.

  In the center of the area was an island counter holding a large black cast-iron cauldron embossed with a pentagram.

  “This room is like every horror movie I’ve ever seen,” Sadie commented, and her voice came out nasally as she pinched her nose against the strong aromas in the room.

  Rudie rolled his eyes.

  “Don’t say that,” Maeva said, chastising her. “The smell is only herbs and potions.”

  “Maybe, but it smells like dog poo.”

  “Sorry,” Maeva said to Rudie. “When you’re pregnant your sense of smell is heightened.”

  “Never mind that.” Rudie waved a hand in the air as if Sadie’s opinion of the pungency of the room mattered diddly-squat. “Let’s get down to business.” He placed his hands on his hips and eyed Sadie up and down. “What do you think, Maeva? A ghost-expunging conjure bag? Like mine?”

  “I don’t know. . . .” Maeva shook her head slowly. “Isn’t there some way that we can still allow her to see and talk to spirits? That way she could still help them go over. Could you just eliminate the intense feeling she gets experiencing their pain at death?”

  “It might be possible,” Rudie said, climbing a metal step stool. While looking directly at Maeva, he reached up and behind him and precisely snagged a jar on the top shelf. “But something that specific could take days or even weeks to develop. I don’t got nothing like that just hanging around. I’d have to experiment.”

  He hopped off the stool and placed the jar on the table next to the cauldron.

  “I don’t have days or weeks!” Sadie exclaimed. “I’ve just recently pulled myself out of financial ruin. A few months ago I was behind in my mortgage payments and I was barely keeping food on my table. Luckily business picked up when Seattle had a rash of serial killers and gang shootings. Finally I’m ahead of the game. Now a fetus the size of a prune is threatening to drag me back to the poorhouse.”

  She folded her arms across her chest and bit back tears. Then she drew in a deep, calming breath and watched Maeva and Rudie exchange concerned looks.

  “I’ve just gotta be able to work,” Sadie begged.

  “Well, then good thing Maeva brought you here because I can help. I might not be able to create something personalized but I can whip up a familiar spell pouch, and hopefully it will do the trick.”

  “So no pain while I’m around the dead?” Sadie asked, her face brightening with the thought.

  “Yup. It should eliminate all of your abilities as long as you’re wearing it.”

  Rudie dragged his step stool across the room and climbed it again. He appeared to know where everything was without even having to look through the bottles and cans. He looked at Sadie while his fingers snaked behind him deep into the back of a shelf without disturbing a single one of the tightly packed bottles or jars. Once Rudie’s fingers grasped what they delved for, he pulled forward his prize: a red, square metal canister. He placed the tiny capsule next to the cauldron as well.

  “So you said it will eliminate all my abilities. Does that mean no ghosts at all with this, um, spell or whatever?” Sadie asked.

  “That’s the best I can do,” Rudie admitted. “With such little notice it would be difficult for me to concoct a specific potion and spell that would only remove your ability to feel the way that ghosts died. Lucky for you that I’ve done a banishing spell a number of times. I can whip this one up quicker than you can say Schizonepeta tenuifolia.”

  Gee, I hope so. . . .

  “You mean I’ll be able to work in peace and quiet for once? No supernatural beings vying for my attention? No more prattling poltergeists or babbling apparitions?” Sadie’s face lit up. “Count me in.”

  “It’s not right to get rid of all your powers,” Maeva grumbled. “You were chosen to receive these talents for a reason. You serve a greater purpose . . . helping spirits move on.”

  “I know that but everyone needs a vacation o
nce in a while,” Sadie said.

  “I guess it’s the best we can do while you come up with something better,” Maeva told Rudie. “And we’re grateful.”

  “Absolutely! And, hey, if it takes you months or a year or two to come up with something more specific to my situation that’s fine with me,” Sadie added. “Take your time.”

  “It shouldn’t take that long. It’s not like it’s Samhain or Beltain. Spirit stuff is kind of slow. Check in with me on a weekly basis and I can let you know how it’s coming. I’ll probably need you to test-drive a new potion for me to see if it works.” Rudie bent to retrieve a large bottle on a bottom shelf and put it with the others. “There could be some trial and error. It’s not like this is an exact science.”

  “But in the meantime you’re going to make me one like yours? So if you’ve already got one of these conjure thingamajigs and it works for you then I’m good using the same one, right?”

  “Doesn’t work that way,” Maeva said. “Rudie’s situation is . . . much different than yours.”

  “Sure, because you have to deal with every ghost on your job that you come across. Could mean dozens each year, right?” Rudie said. “And I’ve gotta deal with one single powerful, but evil, bitch.”

  Sadie looked confused.

  “It’s my ex-wife, or as I like to call her my Hex of Strife.” Rudie smirked. “Long and short of it is, we had a bitter divorce that lasted longer than our marriage. In the end, I got the business and she was pissed about that. Then she ended up with a particularly aggressive kind of cancer and was dead a few weeks after our divorce was final.”

  “That’s very sad,” Sadie said.

  “Not really. She was, and still is, a vindictive whore. The only sad part is that on her death bed she vowed to haunt me for the rest of my life,” Rudie continued. “She wasn’t wicked in real life, but as a malevolent spirit she’s about as spiteful and vexed as they come.” He reached inside his shirt and pulled out a pale blue flannel pouch that he wore dangling from a fine leather string around his neck. “Without this conjure bag for protection, she would’ve either killed me or found a way to drive me into the nuthouse by now.”