"Har dee har har." I pressed on my forehead with the palm of my hand. "What're we gonna do?"
"Hold on." She made funky movements with her hands above her head. "Okay, thinking cap on."
"Oh geez."
"We could put together some questions and call them. You know, pretend we're checking them out for a family member who's in a coma or something."
That wasn't a bad idea. "We could, but I think it would be better if we went to them and maybe got a tour of the place, too. That way maybe we'd be able to see some of the patients. You never know, we might see the girl in the white gown."
"Yes, because if she's in a coma, she'll definitely be walking around the place."
I narrowed my eyes at her. "You know what I mean."
"Kidding. But yeah, that might be a good idea. We could say we're there because of our aunt or something." She paced the kitchen. "She's had a stroke and is in a coma. So we'll need to see rooms that can accommodate that kind of person."
"Yes, because my Italian and German heritage so resembles your full-blooded Asian heritage. Definitely we'd have the same aunt."
"You could have married my hot Asian brother."
"You don't have a brother. Besides, most Asian men are short. I prefer tall men."
"Jake's what, five foot eight on a good day."
"What he lacks in height he makes up for in personality. Besides." I held my hands out to protect my face. "All you Asians look the same."
She tossed her napkin at me. "Oh please. Seen one white person, you've seen 'em all. Nothing unique about any of you."
"We have different colored eyes."
"But ours are shaped better."
"We have several different hair colors."
"Each race notices the subtle differences in their own race but not really of the others around you."
"You grew up in New Jersey, not Asia."
"My parents had a lot of Asian friends."
"Yeah but…" I paused, trying to come up with a clever comeback.
"Can't think of anything else, can ya?"
I leaned against the counter. "Nope, I got nothin'."
"Obviously we're smarter than you all, too."
"I give up. I'm married to your brother."
"My hot brother."
"Yes, Mel. Your hot brother."
"Who looks a lot like me but I'm more attractive."
"Hopefully we won't have to go into that much detail."
"Yeah, that's too bad, too."
"You know, I actually have two real brothers, so we could pretend you're married to one of them."
"They're not my type," Mel said.
"They're wealthy. They're definitely your type."
"Good point. I'm in. So we doin' this now or what?"
I took the other cupcake from the box and bit into it. "Aftef-I'mf-donf-wif-thif."
Mel shoved her second cupcake into her mouth, too. "Okaf, thaf workfs.”
CHAPTER NINE
AN HOUR LATER with the key points of our plan determined, we left for the first stop, Peachtree Manor.
"I'll do the talking, okay?" I asked.
"Why do you always get to have all the fun?"
"Because I'm the special one. I have the gift."
"The gift of being a pain in the butt."
"That's something at which I excel."
"Fine."
I turned on the radio and switched to the eighties station on satellite. A classic eighties song played, and I covered the screen with my hand. "I'll give you a million dollars if you can name the song and the artist."
"You don't have a million dollars," Mel said.
I tapped the mute button on my steering wheel so she wouldn't hear the chorus, a dead giveaway for the title. "How do you know? We may have invested wisely and live frugally."
She raised her eyebrows. "Uh, yeah, I do. If you had a million dollars or even a half a million, you'd stop waiting for Jake to finish your master bath and closet and hire someone to do it. And you'd go on more vacations and take me with. I totally know you."
She was right. If I had that kind of money lying around, my master bath and closet wouldn't be half finished and a constant frustration for me. Jake was handy, and could make, fix or build anything. That wasn't the problem. The problem was he didn't have the time. One of these days though I would go ahead and hire someone and while Jake traveled, they'd do the work. I doubted he'd even notice. "Fine, I'll give you ten dollars. But you'll have to take a check 'cause Josh took all of my cash the other day."
She let out a breath. "Fine. A check'll have to do."
I unmuted the radio. "Name the song and the artist and the ten spot is yours."
"The Cult. "She Sells Sanctuary." Oh snap. Now pay up," she said, holding her hand out to me. She sang along to the song. "And the world, the world turns around and the world and the world, the world drags me down, and the world and the world and the world…"
"Holy crap. How'd you know that?"
"I went through an alternative music phase once. The Cult was a favorite of mine."
"That's cheating. You didn't tell me about your alternative music phase so you're disqualified."
"You can't make rules up after you present the offer. That's cheating, too."
"Fine we'll call it even."
"Fine," Mel said, and then she tilted her head. "Wait a minute. I still get the ten bucks right?"
"I'm not playing with you anymore."
"You have to. You don't have any other friends."
As if on cue, my phone rang. Mel grabbed it and read the name. "I was wrong." She wiggled the phone toward me. "It's your new bestie."
"My wha—who?"
"Lou Sassole's kid." She aimed her finger at the phone and moved it in slow motion toward the accept icon. "Maybe she'll wanna come with us?"
I narrowed my eyes at her. "Don't you dare answer it."
The sides of her mouth stretched up into an evil grin. "I'm not sure I can stop my finger. It has a mind of its own."
I yanked the phone from her. "Stop that. I'm not gonna talk to her right now."
She shook her head. "You're going to have to eventually anyway, what's the difference if it's now or later."
"I hate it when you make a good point."
"Is that why you're always cranky?"
I stuck my tongue out at her.
"Can't keep putting off the inevitable."
"I know," I said, scowling. "But I can until later. Now is now, and we have more important stuff to do now."
"Why do today what you can put off till tomorrow? Is that what you're goin' for?"
"Yup."
"Whatever works."
We arrived at Peachtree Manor and went over our story one more time before we went in.
"Don't you think this would be easier if your mom was here, too?" Mel asked.
Ma popped into the backseat. "I was thinkin' the same thing."
"It's like I'm being spied on," I said.
Mel glanced behind her. "She's there, huh?"
"Yup, right on cue."
"I'm not spyin' on you," Ma said. "I'm a mom, we got a special connection to our kids and know when they need us. At least I do. Probably 'cause I'm a celestial super sleuth an' all. You got a good gift but mine's like a Corvette compared to your Chevette."
"She just said her gift is the Corvette version of gifts and mine is like a Chevette."
"A Chevette? Ew. That's the junk of metal I drove for Driver's Ed back during the dark ages. They haven't made those cars in years and they were pieces of crap when they did."
"Probably that's her point."
"Ouch. That's rough."
"Welcome to my world."
"All's I'm sayin' is my gift is more advanced than yours. You'll catch up one day. You just gotta be patient. In the meantime, I'll keep my spiritual radar on so you don't get in any trouble."
My mother the instigator of trouble planned to keep me from it. "So you're gonna protect me from you?"
"You gotta work on being less rude," she said.
"I'll try. I just thought this time I'd give things a try without you."
"Is that your way of tryin' not to be rude?" Ma asked. "'Cause if so, it ain't working."
I glanced at Mel. "When you summoned the dead just now, you brought in a cranky one."
Mel giggled. "Better than a demon."
"I'm not sure there's a difference."
"Ah Madone," Ma said. "All's I was plannin' was to have a little looksie. Ya know, see if I can find this white gowned girl you're all hot and heavy to find." Ma flicked her hand in the air. "It ain't like you can go in the rooms anyway."
I repeated her factual, yet annoying comment to Mel.
"She's right," Mel said.
"I know that. I just wanted to do this without the celestial sleuth intervening."
"Why?" they both asked in unison.
"I dunno. Maybe I just want to see if I can do it on my own."
"Maybe you're just being a snot," Ma said.
"I am not," I said in a snotty tone.
"What'd she say?" Mel asked.
"She said I'm being a snot."
"If the shoe fits," Mel said.
"Et tu Brute?"
"Your mom has certain qualifications we don't and they've come in handy a time or two, so what's the harm of having her along?"
"Mel's my favorite daughter."
I rolled my eyes. "She says you're her favorite daughter."
"I love your mother."
"Here we go again."
"What?" they both said.
"Will the two of you stop talking in unison? It's annoying." I shifted in my seat, faced my mother, and pointed a finger at her. "Fine, you can come, but no funny tricks. No throwing things. No moving things. No scaring the staff or the residents. You understand?"
She nodded. "Spoil sport. These people are probably on their last leg and already seein' their dead loved ones anyway, so I'd just be another ghost to them."
"Another ghost that could give them a heart attack and send them to the other side a lot earlier than they're supposed to go. But fine, you just go and check the private rooms. See if you can find anyone that matches the description of the girl in the white gown. If you do, then come back and tell me and we'll figure out a way to get closer to her. Okay?"
"You betcha."
"Thank you, Ma."
"Sorry, Fran," Mel said.
"Whadda you sorry about?" I asked.
"Fran likes to stir the pot and you're putting the lid on it. I feel bad for her."
"That's because you're a pot stirrer, too."
"Well, duh."
I rolled my eyes. "Okay, let's go over this one more time."
We went with Mel being married to my brother John, the one who didn't torture me as a kid and picked my Auntie Rita—the one that had been dead for years—as the aunt who'd recently suffered from a stroke and couldn't care for herself. We'd decided Auntie Rita deserved the quality care of a place like Peachtree Manor over any of the other places we'd come across.
"So we're all set with the story, right?"
Both of my counterparts nodded.
"Your Auntie Rita will appreciate your efforts," Ma said.
"It's not for her, Ma. We're just pretending it is."
"I know that but she'll still like that you cared enough to not stick her in one a those government funded old folks' homes if she were alive."
"Well all righty then."
"What's she sayin'?" Mel said.
I shook my head. "Nothing that makes a whole lotta sense." I tossed my keys in my purse. "Let's do this."
We climbed out of the car and high-fived each other.
"Do one a those with her for me too, will ya?" Ma asked.
So I did.
"We so need our own reality TV show," Mel said. "Suburban Atlanta Matriarch Gumshoes."
I grimaced. "You make it sound like we're on the brink of death. Matriarch."
"Well, you are gettin' up there in age," Ma said.
I ignored her.
"I thought of it on the fly. I can come up with something better," Mel said.
"And she's gotta add me to the mix," Ma said. "Tell her that."
I shifted my head toward Mel. "Don't forget Ma. She wants to be in the title, too."
She made a gun shape with her finger and thumb. "Oh, yeah. Sorry, Fran. My bad."
"She's forgiven."
"She said it's fine."
At the entrance, I gently reminded my mother to keep things on the up and up, and told Mel to follow my lead.
"Why do you always get to do the fun stuff?" Mel asked.
Ma agreed.
"Because it's my gift and my ghosts."
"Geesh. Fine," Mel said.
Peachtree Manor was a lot like the assisted living where Ma once lived. The entrance was bright with silk flowers and photos of past and present residents lining the walls and foyer table. It opened to a sitting area filled with matching chairs and couches centered around a two-story stone fireplace with a big screen TV hanging above. The front desk was on the side of the entrance and a bowl filled with snack-sized candy bars on top of it called out to me. Mel and I each took two.
"What a pisser. I can't have candy," Ma said.
I giggled and then caught myself from responding. "Hi," I said to the petite blond filing her nails behind the desk. "We'd like to talk to someone about your facility."
She acknowledged me with a quick glance. "Okay, have you ever been here before?" She cracked a piece of gum in her mouth, and went back to filing her nails.
"No, we have not. We're here about my aunt. She's had a stroke and—"
She cut me off, pointing to a clipboard on the desk. "Fill this out. Someone will be with you in a second." She blew the nail dust from off her hand.
"Well ain't she just a bundle of joy?" Ma asked.
The nail file flew from the girl's hand and landed on the floor. She stared at her fingers for a second, mouth dropped open in surprise and then bent over, picked it up, and went back to her nail filing duty.
I filled out the information attached to the clipboard. It asked for my contact number so I wrote 867-5309 from the eighties song by Tommy Tutone. When I finished I slid it across the desk directly under the nail dust dropping from the girl's hand. "All finished."
She glanced at the form. "Panther? Like, your last name is a big cat?"
"Told you, you shoulda changed it to Palanca," Ma said.
"Panthers are pretty intense cats," I told the girl. "They rip their prey to shreds."
Ma snorted. "You tell 'er."
Mel coughed to hide her laugh.
Either the girl was absent the day brains were handed out or her body had been taken over by an obsessive nail filing alien because she didn't flinch and went right back to filing her nails again.
Mel meandered around the main room while we waited.
I stood at the front desk, tapping the pen I'd used to fill out the guest register. A few minutes into it and still losing out to a nail file, I finally huffed and said, "Can you at least let someone know I'm here?"
She flicked her head to the mirror behind her. "They can see you in there," she said. "They'll be out soon."
"This girl needs an attitude adjustment," Ma said. "And someone oughta smack her parents upside the head for raisin' such a rude kid. If I talked like that to adults your grandmother would have chased me around the house with a butcher's knife."
I grinned at the thought of my short, squatty grandmother who could have been a defender for the Chicago Bears, all brawn and bravery, chasing my mother around the house with a butcher's knife. To be a fly on that wall would have been a blast.
"Oh for cryin' out loud," Ma said. "She's gettin' on my nerves."
The pen darted out of my hand and spanked the girl square on the forehead.
"Ouch." She rubbed her head and snarled in my direction, like I'd tossed the pen at her.
I grimaced. "I'm s
orry. It slipped out of my hand."
"I bruise easily."
"That's what cover up is for," Ma said. "And you oughta use it on that ugly tattoo you got on your wrist, too. What the heck is that anyway?"
"That's an interesting tattoo," I said. "What is it?"
She flipped her wrist to give me a better view. "It's a Scarab Beetle. They're an ancient Egyptian religious symbol."
"She don't look like Cleopatra," Ma said.
The corner of my upper lip twitched. "That's interesting. Can you ask them to hurry along? I've got a few other places to check out today, too."
She groaned as if I'd just subjected her to some form of torture. "Fine." She got up and went behind the window.
Helpfulness and pleasantness weren't this girl's strong suit. "Thanks."
"I'm gonna go check out the place before I start throwin' couch pillows at this twit," Ma said.
"Probably a good idea."
I walked over to Mel, who was having a conversation with an older lady.
"So you like it here?" she asked.
The woman tossed her head back and laughed. "Hell no. These people are tyrants. They tell us when to wake up and when to go to sleep. They even tell us when we gotta take a dump. This place is for the birds. I told my son I don't need it. I want him to send me to that place in Florida I seen on those commercials. I wanna learn to play golf. They don't got golf here."
"Oh, that's just horrible. I don't understand why they would treat you so poorly. That's not right," Mel said.
"Sure ain't," the lady said. "But I know why they do it." She crinkled her finger at Mel. "Come closer and I'll tell you."
Mel dipped her head toward the lady's face.
"They're aliens and we're their experiments. One a 'em knocked up my eighty-six-year-old neighbor and she don't got her girly inners anymore. That's how we know they're aliens. 'Cause when Jesus comes back, I don't think he'll come from a dried up twat. It's gotta be aliens."
Apparently the woman grew up in my mother's neck of the woods. I bit my lip and Mel rubbed hers with her index finger. We made eye contact and willed each other not to laugh.
"Oh, that's horrible," Mel said. "I'm so sorry."
The woman flicked her hand. "I could use a little a that, you know. Some of that kinky stuff they show on the TV nowadays. Besides, I'm only seventy-nine and I could carry an alien baby better than that old coot next door 'cause I got my girly inners and all still. At least most a 'em, I think. Been so long since I used 'em they coulda shriveled up and fallen out for all I know."
Uncharted Territory (An Angela Panther Mystery Book 3) Page 13
