Eating Cupcakes in a Cemetery

by Shelley Dawn Siddall

  Eating Cupcakes in a Cemetery

  By Shelley Dawn Siddall

  The right of Shelley Dawn Siddall to be identified as the Author of the work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the Author’s imagination or are used fictiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. No resemblance to persons living or dead.

  Copyright © 2019 Shelley Dawn Siddall

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Design by Mariah Sinclair

  www.TheCoverVault.com

  This book is dedicated to my beautiful nieces, Ashley Dawn and Tianah Rose who are going to be mortified that their crazy auntie dedicated a book about dueling sisters to them, because there is like, no way they resemble Bev and Belinda.

  Chapter One

  “When did my toes get that big?”

  Beverly Nichol lay flat on her back with one eye open, blearily staring at her feet. She attempted to guess the time of day.

  “I’m thinking it’s pretty early in the morning because of the position of the sun.”

  Bev contemplated this celestial body. “It’s odd though because normally the sun is not in my bedroom.” She opened both eyes and found another body. This one was right beside her. She was relieved.

  “Oh, they’re your toes, not mine! So how come you only have one shoe on? Um, buddy? Where’s your other sock and shoe? Buddy? What are you; dead or something?”

  She was cold and covered in dew. The body beside her was even colder.

  He was handsome, she’d give him that. Three-piece suit, complete with fancy hanky puff thing in his pocket; matching tie and beautiful wavy black hair. And he smelled like almonds and cherries. What was that wonderful smell?

  “Jergens hand lotion! This dream is getting better and better!” Bev smiled and picked up his hand to check how smooth it was. Forget smooth. It was cold. It was very cold.

  She frowned and then pinched herself.

  “Expletive!” she said purposely using a euphemism, “this dude is dead.” She quickly sat up and massaged the back of her head and turned around. She had been sleeping against a tombstone.

  The dead dude was permanently sleeping against the tombstone and behind his back was a long-jagged line of red splatter.

  Bev stuck out her lower lip and patted the dude’s blue hand. “Oh you poor thing, you were murdered.”

  It could have been that Bev was still drunk from the night before, or it could have been her general laid-back attitude, but her sudden priority was to find the dead man’s right shoe. The sock was negotiable. She got up and began her search.

  She found her purse two tombstones over, her car keys, her spring jacket with the pink polka dots and her wallet, but no right shoe approximate size twelve. She went back and apologized to him.

  “Sorry I couldn’t find your shoe.” She looked closely at his face; did she know him? She felt she should say something nice, because he was dead. Maybe a compliment?

  “You must be about ten years older than me, right? Not that I expect you to answer but you look around thirty-four; but good for your age, you know?”

  Bev noticed something pretty and shiny in his ear.

  “You won’t be needing this, am I right? Of course I am. You’re dead.”

  She had to tug a bit, but she got the earring out and dropped it in her purse. Then she felt guilty and started talking to the dead man again.

  “I know it would be so embarrassing to be found like this; well, not the dead in a graveyard part, but the nicely dressed except for your one shoe.”

  Bev looked at her wrist. It still didn’t have a watch on it, but she felt like she was late for something. She kneeled down and removed the remaining shoe.

  “I’ll just keep this for you,” she said, hugging the left shoe to her chest as she looked at the details on the tombstone.

  “Miss Thelma Honeyford, 1927 to 2017, the best auntie, sister and friend. Pure in heart and body, gone home to meet the Lord.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Thelma, that this gorgeous hunk of man was dropped on your doorstep after you were dead. Maybe if you met him a few decades ago, you wouldn’t have been so pure?”

  Bev opened the door to her car when a wasp went zzzing by her ear. That’s a pretty fast-moving wasp, she thought.

  It was actually a bullet.

  ***

  Her old red Tercel had so many dents and rust spots, that Bev didn’t even notice the new holes in the trunk when she arrived home. Fortunately, she had been driving around with a sleeping bag rolled up in the back seat so the bullets that didn’t blow out her taillights, travelled through the car and lodged safely in the sleeping bag.

  Bev was oblivious to the danger. She had the radio cranked up and was singing lustily along with the classic rock. When she got home, she popped the trunk, threw the shoe in and went in her motel room and sat on the orange couch.

  Once she sat down, she started to come down from the previous night.

  I really have to get a life, she thought. I keep doing this over and over again. Start the day hungover, segue to remorse, have some hair of the dog…

  “Speaking of which, what sort of hair do I have?”

  Bev headed to the box under the sink which she affectionately called her liquor cabinet. She was fortunate. She had several liquor cabinets; one under the kitchen table and one on the kitchen table. All were next to empty.

  “Maybe I should have just stayed with the dead guy,” she said morosely, “At least I would have somebody to talk to.”

  ***

  Tony ‘Fettuccini’ Taylor was ticked. His gun was empty. He phoned his boss, Helen Percy.

  “I missed, Auntie Helen, and now I’m out of bullets.”

  “Is this Tony?”

  “Yah.”

  “Do you know what time it is Tony? It’s six o’clock in the damn morning! Who were you shooting at?”

  Tony was standing in the graveyard admiring the sunrise. He missed part of the question.

  “No, I wasn’t shooting a cat, I was shooting at that Beverly Nichols.”

  “What? Tell me you didn’t hit her? Why in the hell were you shooting at her?”

  Tony hung his head. “I told you, I missed. You told me to kill her Auntie Helen, so I tried.”

  Helen Percy was out of bed by now, smoking a cigarette. Dealing with staff was always fraught with communication difficulties, but her nephew Tony took the cake.

  “I told you to tail her, TAIL her Tony, not kill her.”

  Tony put his finger in his ear and wiggled it. “You know Auntie Helen; I think my ears are blocked or something. I went to the clinic and he told me to put oil in my ears, but I thought that was pretty dumb, so I didn’t do it. Maybe I should have?”

  Tony heard a sigh on the other end of the phone.

  “Did you fall back asleep Auntie?”

  “Tony, you work for me. It’s always Mrs. Percy; always. Do you know how to text?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  His boss said, “Text me,” and hung up.

  Tony noticed a guy leaning against a tombstone and went over to investigate. If the guy heard him talking about trying to kill Beverly Nichols that wouldn’t be good. First thing Tony noticed the guy was barefoot. Then he noticed it was his cousin Ser
afino.

  Tony’s phone beeped and he read the message. “Text me now.”

  Tony immediately phoned his boss. “I didn’t realize you wanted me to text you right away, so I didn’t. Plus, I just found Serafino.”

  “Serafino? He’s with you? Put him on.”

  This time Helen Percy heard Tony sigh deeply. “I’ve kicked him several times, but he’s not waking up. I think he’s dead. He’s got that kind of blue color dead people get.”

  “Serafino’s dead? Who else knows this?”

  Tony thought hard. “I imagine the person who killed him.”

  Helen continued to process the death of one of her best enforcers by lighting yet another cigarette. There were now two burning in the ashtray; but she didn’t notice.

  “Nephew mine, I am going to text you instructions. Please read them and do them and text me when they’re done, okay?”

  “Sure, Mrs. Percy. See Auntie Helen, I said Mrs. Percy.”

  ***

  The mixture Bev made from all the leftover booze in her motel was not good. Even her bird complained, and she hadn’t given her any.

  She had picked up the bird the previous month, instead of paying the rent. Bev had been on her lunch hour at her new job and walked by a pet store. She saw a beautiful green bird with an orange face. The guy at the pet shop told her it was a peach-faced lovebird and would live for over twelve years and would talk up a storm! It would be great company, he said.

  On the spot, Bev bought it and a cage and food. She called her bird ‘Angel’ and set her up beside the liquor cabinet on her kitchen table. Really, it was her only table and with the bird and the box of booze, there wasn’t any room to dine had Bev been inclined to. She wasn’t; she mostly drank.

  Angel didn’t talk. At all. But she did chitter and attack any paper and shred it to pieces. Bev had to throw her mail in the trunk of her car, or it ended up ripped in strips and woven in Angel’s cage.

  Bev, with the horrid hair of the dog in her plastic cup, returned to her litany of self-loathing.

  Yup, I really do need to get a life. I make all sorts of promises and resolutions to myself and promptly go out and break every single one. And the whole vicious cycle begins again. I wonder if I still have a job?

  The next important question was, ‘where do I work’? Bev had a little problem. She had blackouts. People were always telling her she did this and did that and she didn’t remember any of it. The blackouts were getting worse and overlapping into her sober times.

  Take this morning, for example. She woke up next to a dead guy.

  Why? Did she know him? Is that why she was sad, because her subconscious was telling her that her friend was dead?

  What if he was my fiancée? Should I go tell his parents? How am I supposed to do that when I can’t remember their names or where they live? Or what happened last night?

  She knocked back the booze, shuddered and looked at the wall. Apparently, she had thrown something red there and it had dripped down to the floor.

  Bev grunted and told Angel. “Looks like someone died in here doesn’t it? Why can’t I be like my older Sister, Belinda? She’s as neat as a pin and probably doesn’t wake up to dead guys.”

  With good intentions, Bev started to search for a pay stub so she could phone whatever company and tell them she would be late; or if she was fired, that she wouldn’t be coming in but about ten minutes into her search, she found some money.

  It was stuffed into each sleeve of a black sweater that Belinda had knit for her when they were still getting along.

  “Look at this Angel! We’ve got enough money here for the rent! You know what we should do? Forget the rent, we’re going to buy some gas for the Tercel and go see Belinda! Road trip to Eureka, baby!”

  Angel was pretty happy about this. Anything to get out of this hole. At least in the pet shop there were people to talk to. This idiot was never home. It was just Angel and the television left on constantly; tuned to home improvement shows. Angel wanted to fly, not listen to discussions about countertops. She didn’t care what they were made of; she could poop on anything.

  Bev kept talking to her bird. “Should I phone her? No, let’s surprise her!” She got some garbage bags and started to stuff her in her clothes, but she kept finding money stuffed in sleeves.

  Even in her hungover state, she knew this meant trouble.

  “Let’s see what we have. Dead guy, lots of money, and a big red stain on the wall. Yup. I’m thinking we should leave sooner, rather than later.”

  Bev was on a mission now. The booze had helped to fire up her brain cells and she started packing in earnest. She ran out to the car with a bag of what she figured were necessities and noticed the lid of the trunk was still up.

  “Bonus!” she said as she took the spare tire out and filled the cavity with ramen noodles. She brought out Angel in her cage and put the cage on the front passenger seat.

  That’s when she noticed a half-empty whiskey bottle on the floor.

  “This would make the perfect gift for Maggie,” she said. She brought it inside to wrap it up and add an extra little touch. After her gift was ready she carried it towards the tiny bathroom.

  A quick survey from the doorway confirmed her suspicions; there wasn’t anything in there she needed. Bev was not that fastidious with her grooming; in fact her goal for several weeks was to get rid of her unibrow, but that hadn’t happened. On a whim Bev ripped the shower curtain aside and found a grey duffle bag with another stash of cash and some boxes.

  “Hot Diggity, Angel, we got ourselves some travelling food partner!” she yelled as she found ten boxes of brandy filled chocolates.

  I guess I don’t do anything by half measures, she thought as she wedged the boxes beside the bird cage in her car. For a change maybe I should be responsible. Now what would be responsible?

  Bev realized she left the money in the tub and debated leaving it for rent. Nope, she thought, Belinda might need it. Or I could buy a new car. She looked over at the black SUV parked beside her and decided she would get a car like that, but red or maybe yellow and definitely a convertible.

  Bev went back inside and grabbed the money. She carefully locked the door to her motel room but left the key in the lock for the manager to find. She wouldn’t want him to have to pay for a lost key.

  “Now that’s responsible!” she said as she drove away. As soon as she passed the office she slammed on her brakes.

  Angel the bird contemplated Bev’s driving skills and debated suicide while Bev ran in the office and back out again. Once they were under way, Angel chittered happily. The scenery was breathtaking even if, at times, they travelled a little too close to the vehicle in front of them.

  ***

  The owners of the black SUV were still sleeping. Jamal and Hailey had the easiest work assignment ever and splurged on wine last night. They had toasted their brilliance far too often at hiding their relationship from their bosses. They also toasted the subject they were to keep under surveillance.

  “Here’s to Beverly Penelope Nichols! Thank God for sloppy drunks!” said Hailey Peterson.

  “And the mile-wide swath of destruction they leave behind them!” Jamal Osman added.

  If Bev wasn’t stumbling into people, she was singing loudly songs she made up on the spot. To find her they just had to listen for her warbling or for people cursing her out in the club.

  The FBI agents had been watching her for two weeks. Far from being the nefarious underworld criminal their bosses suspected she was; Beverly Penelope Nichols was the dumbest redhead in the country. No way would they lose track of her!

  Chapter Two

  “Heading out in the car, man we’re going far; going to see my older Sister, hope she isn’t shacked up with a mister!” Bev sang as she flew down the highway towards California.

  Angel didn’t mind Bev’s braying; at least they were on the road. The little bird was hopping from perch to perch trying to get a better view of the road, but a big se
mi was in front of them and another behind them.

  “Belinda’s going to be so proud of me; today is the first day of my sobriety!” Bev sang as she ate another brandy-filled chocolate. She suddenly reverted to a normal speaking voice.

  “Glasses. I think I forgot my glasses.” Shortly afterwards she pulled over at a rest stop to start searching the bags of clothes. She was notorious for leaving her glasses in pockets; but first she had to smell the flowers growing in between the concrete curbing.

  “Whoa. You did not live up to my expectations!” Bev said as she recoiled from the stink of the daisies. It was enough to throw her into tailspin.

  Some things just let you down when you least expect it, she thought. Especially people things. One minute they’re all ‘I’ll love you forever’ and the next they’re like, ‘I’m going back to my wife and kids’.

  She looked over at her car where Angel was clinging to the side of the cage. Like this bird, she thought, it’s supposed to talk and doesn’t. What good is it?

  Bev immediately cringed at the thought of speaking ill of her bird.

  “I’m sorry little Angel. Here, be free! Fly away little bird!”

  Angel was ecstatic. The idiot had opened the cage door and let her out! Angel had never flown any great distance, but she wanted to. Out she went, up and up and then sideways. A passing semi narrowly missed her, and the breeze created knocked Angel off course. She somersaulted in the air, regained her equilibrium and flew through an open window in an RV parked at the rest stop. Angel heard a wolf whistle. She looked for the source and saw a caged male lovebird.

  She boldly walked past the humans who were seated at the breakfast table and pushed her beak through the bars. “How you doing?” she asked.

  Beverly on the other hand determined that she would never look at another male again. She returned to her car and passed out.

  ***

  Helen Percy had a dilemma. She had joined forces with Gary, the Loss Prevention Officer at a big box store, but he had delayed initiating the next phase of their operation. She confronted him about his reluctance and he finally confessed his screw-up.