by Morgana Best
Was I going crazy? I could have sworn I just saw Tara looking at Tiffany. My friend held my gaze, as if she were daring me to say something. I looked away first. That was crazy—if she could see the ghost, she would tell me, wouldn’t she?
No, because I could see the girl, and I didn’t tell her. I figured a young woman appearing suddenly at our table would shock her, but it didn’t shock me. It didn’t scare me because I had seen her before. I had seen other dead people before. What if Tara had, too?
It was too crazy. I knew that. I tried to shove it from my mind, but then something else I had shoved aside a week ago came rushing back. I had thought that Basil, the handsome accountant, had seen Ernie. Clearly, I was either imagining things or getting paranoid.
“Girls night out, huh?” Tiffany asked. “I know, you can’t answer, but I heard you guys talking, and it sort of makes me feel normal. I should go, though.”
“No,” I said suddenly.
“No what?” Janet asked.
“Uh, no, I forgot I left a light on in the funeral home. I wanted to stop doing that, so I could cut down on the power bill.”
“I think I got them all before we left,” Janet said, looking at me strangely.
“Oh good,” I said.
To my left Tiffany was laughing. “This is fun,” she said. “I could really mess up your day.”
I didn’t answer.
“I mean, eventually you’ll have to tell me to be quiet or something, right? And you’ll scream out ‘shut up!’ and everyone will look at you like you’re insane.”
Still I stayed quiet.
“Don’t worry, I won’t do that to you. I just wanted to get out of the funeral home for a while. I guess I’ve been sticking around because you’re the only person I can talk to. Well, living person I guess, ‘cause that old man keeps me company sometimes.”
Janet lifted up a fork and was looking at it intently. “I heard a lot of things like this come from child labor in a third world country,” she informed us.
“How awful,” Tara said. She was really doing a bang up job putting up with Janet and all her Debbie Downer stuff.
Beside me, once again, Tiffany was laughing. “This girl is too much. I was with her when she was working on me. She put on a shade of blush that I wouldn’t touch in a million years, but anyway, she’s funny. She talks to herself a lot. Same old really, a bunch of depressing stuff. Maybe working with the dead makes you depressed. I know being dead can do that.”
It was all becoming too much. I had a dead girl talking on one side of me, a girl talking dead people on the other side, and across from me my best friend, who I thought could see Tiffany. There had been that glance, but who knows, maybe when a ghost comes anyone can feel the sudden chill. I felt it sometimes. I shook my head. Tara hadn’t seen Tiffany, and Basil hadn’t seen Ernie.
Finally, our food came and our night went on, passing pleasantly enough when we managed to divert Janet from her morbid stories. Tiffany remained for the whole meal, speaking every now and then when she knew it would amuse me, and a couple of times I had to fight the urge to laugh.
After dinner we all went our separate ways. Janet went to her car, Tiffany disappeared, and Tara was picked up by Duncan in his police vehicle.
“Congratulations,” I said to Duncan as he rolled down his window.
“Does she tell everyone?” he asked with a smile.
“Just Laurel,” Tara said, “and Janet.”
“Who is Janet?”
“My new best friend. You’re going to love her.”
I laughed and so did Tara, which left Duncan with a worried look on his face.
“See ya, girlie,” Tara called to me.
I waved. Duncan drove off, and I walked the short distance to my car. As I was unlocking it, a dark shape slid up next to me. A strong hand grabbed my arm. I swung around and found myself face to face with Danny.
“Who do you think you are?” he asked.
“Danny, let me go!” I said.
“Don’t mess with me,” he said, his voice filled with anger. “I don’t appreciate what you did at that funeral home. You make money off sad people. That’s disgusting.”
I steeled my jaw. “You didn’t look sad at all,” I said. “Now let go of me.”
To my relief, Danny released me. I watched him walk away to join a group of his friends who were waiting by the door. Before he went inside, he turned and pointed at me with a scowl on his face and hate in his eyes. It chilled me to the bone.
Chapter 12
It was our first celebrity funeral, and to I say was nervous was an understatement. The funeral home had a nice if modest speaker system throughout. It was commonplace during a viewing to have videos playing, moving collages of the deceased’s life, and they were invariably accompanied by music. There were speakers in every room of the downstairs area, anywhere guests could go. We usually played soft, elevator type music.
Today, the music was of a different kind. The guitars were roaring; the drums were kicking. It was loud and booming. “It’s just the way he would have wanted it,” the deceased’s wife said with a smile.
However, she was the only one smiling. The others there, family and friends, obviously thought it was tacky at best and downright disrespectful at worst.
I was standing near the front door keeping an eye on the guests who were still arriving. It was six in the evening, and the man was to be buried the next morning. There would be this viewing, and then a small get-together after the burial in the morning. All in all, I had been able to charge quite a bit more for this funeral than others.
The widow had supplied memorabilia for the viewing. There was a blow-up figure of Gene Simmons, the bass guitarist of KISS. There were posters on the wall, and even KISS streamers.
I looked at the blow-up Gene Simmons swaying back and forth. It gave me the creeps as his eyes seemed to follow me. I reminded myself that the customer is always right, so I embraced the tacky kitsch, and found myself feeling rather proud of the whole ordeal. Even if most of the family hated it, it would be something that they would never forget.
There was even a reporter from the local paper present. He had asked me to keep up the KISS stuff after the funeral, so a photographer could come and take pictures for the newspaper. This was certainly going to put the funeral home on the map.
My self-satisfied smile was abruptly wiped off my face when my mother appeared. “This is disgusting,” she said. “It’s a mockery of death.”
“Not everyone feels the same way, Mom. Some people want their funerals to be entertaining. They want people to have fun. Not everyone wants to be sad at a funeral,” I countered.
“Well, Laurel,” my mother asked me sternly, “is anyone having fun?”
I looked around. I had to admit she was right. Most people looked rather put off by the music and the KISS memorabilia around the rooms. It probably didn’t help that in the open casket the deceased man had his face painted, all white and black and silver. He looked as if he could get up and go to one of the concerts at any moment.
“His wife is loving it,” I said.
Mom’s mouth was nothing but a tight line across her face. She folded her arms in front of her chest.
“Oh Mom, it’s just rock and roll,” I said in a conciliatory tone.
“I’m not stupid, you know. I know you think I’m stupid, and I know your father thought I was stupid. Everyone always thought he was smarter than I am. Well, let me tell you, I looked them up on the internet. I can do that you know, despite what you think of me. KISS means ‘Knights in Satan’s Service’.”
“I think that’s just a rumor or something,” I said. “It’s just an urban legend.”
“Let me tell you, Laurel,” my mother said, her voice full of exasperation, “you think you’re so smart, but they don’t just put anything on the internet. It’s like a big encyclopedia. It’s all true.”
What could I say to that? Not much. “All right, Mom. Well, even so, the clie
nt likes it.”
“I think I saw her crying,” my mother said.
“It’s a viewing, Mom. You would expect people to cry.”
Mom’s lips pursed into a thin line. “It’s too loud. God doesn’t like loud music, or he wouldn’t have invented hymns.”
“I can turn it down a little,” I conceded. I went to the sound system, leaving my mother by the door to welcome guests. I turned the music down more than a bit.
“Now this is a funeral!” a happy voice said, and I turned to see Ernie standing in the doorway. “Mine was horrible, but this one is fun.”
“You’re a KISS fan?” I asked, surprised.
“No, not exactly,” the old dead man admitted. “I just like bothering people, I guess, and there are a lot of bothered people here.”
I shrugged. “Well, it’s not up to them how this guy goes out. When they die, they can have all the boring funerals they want.”
“Keep it up, kiddo,” Ernie said. “This all seems expensive. Your father would have loved it.”
I smiled and nodded. “I think so, too.”
“I’m going to go now,” Ernie said, and he walked through a wall.
“Catch you later, Ernie.” I left the small media room and stopped to check on the wife of the deceased. She was by his coffin, reaching down and tracing her fingertips lightly over his makeup covered cheek.
“Are you all right?” I asked. “Is there anything we can do for you?”
She smiled and placed her hand on my arm. “I love it,” she said. “This is exactly him. It’s perfect.”
“I’m glad,” I said.
“I know some people hate it. Most of them do, I guess, but it just doesn’t matter. I don’t care. I miss him, and I want him to be happy, wherever he is.”
“I’m sure he is happy,” I said. “If he can see this, somehow, somewhere, he’s thrilled.”
The woman nodded, and she touched her husband’s cheek once more. I left her alone.
Pastor Green usually attended the viewings. I was, however, greatly surprised when he arrived, given that he looked like a member of KISS, his face all painted white with black around the eyes. He had gone all out.
“Hello, Laurel,” Pastor Green said.
I just stood there with my mouth hanging open. I wondered where my mother was. I would need to find her and prepare her, otherwise she was liable to have a heart attack.
Pastor Green did not appear to notice that I was rattled by his appearance, and kept talking. “Martin and Diane Harris have been coming to church for such a long time. I don’t think I ever saw him without a KISS tee shirt on under his Sunday best. He played drums in the worship team.”
“Oh, my word!” I heard my mother shriek from behind me. She flew down the hall and practically barreled into Pastor Green. I was worried she was going to send him right out the door, but it wasn’t open any longer, so she was going to have to break it down.
“You’re a man of God!” she said in an accusatory tone.
Pastor Green smiled. “I am,” he said. “It’s my duty in times like these to offer comfort.”
“Who could you possibly be comforting? Lucifer?”
The pastor laughed. “Diane Harris,” he said.
“This is not proper. It’s downright unholy,” my mother pressed. “Certainly you won’t have this heathen makeup on at church.”
The pastor shook his head. “I will not,” he said with a sigh.
Just then Diane Harris joined us. “Oh, thank you for coming,” she said to the pastor.
Pastor Green patted her hand. “If you’ll excuse us,” he said to my mother. “Diane and I will go and greet everyone.” He made the rock and roll sign with his fingers, index and pinkie extended, middle and ring folded down, held by his thumb. He stuck out his tongue like Gene Simmons, and walked off with the widow.
Chapter 13
Since we had just had dinner earlier in the week, I was a little surprised when Tara called me in the morning after the KISS funeral to ask if I could meet her for lunch that afternoon.
The café was classic looking, long and chrome, with a spacious parking lot that wasn’t as busy as I remembered it being years ago. I didn’t see Tara’s car, so I went in and hovered, until an old woman named Kathy yelled at me from the counter and told me to sit wherever I wanted. It didn’t appear that she was willing to leave her steaming mug of coffee and the soap opera she was watching on a small TV bolted into one corner of the building.
I chose a table along the wall where I could look out the long bay window and see when Tara arrived. Kathy came to drop off a glass of water and take my order. I remembered her from back in high school. She had worked here then, and somehow she had looked just as old as she did now. I wondered if she recognized me, but if she did, she didn’t let it register on her face. The only other person in the place, besides whoever was banging around dishes in the back, the cook no doubt, was a large man in a red shirt sitting at the counter. He appeared to be doing a crossword puzzle, given that his head was bent low over the newspaper on which he was scribbling.
I ordered a Coke and watched Kathy shuffle back behind her counter. The bell over the door chimed, and I looked up to see Tara walk in. She smiled at me and hurried over, dropping into the seat across from me. Tara ordered a glass of water, much to Kathy’s obvious disgust.
“I miss sodas so much,” she said, “but I’m trying to drop it so that when I get pregnant I won’t have to quit cold turkey.”
I nodded. “The things we do for kids.”
Tara laughed. “Neither of us know anything about that.”
“Well, I was trying to relate.”
“Trust me, I’m going to need to live vicariously through you,” Tara said, accepting her water from Kathy who slammed it down so hard on the table that it splashed. She took our meal orders and then hurried off.
“I can’t believe she still works here,” I said quietly, when the old woman had made it back to the counter.
“I think she might be a vampire,” Tara said with a grin.
“It would be depressing to be turned into a vampire at age one hundred and twelve, or however old she is,” I said, and we both giggled.
“It’s great that you’re back,” Tara said. “I’ve missed you.”
“I know. I’ve missed you too.” I thought back to her call this morning. “What’s up?” I asked. “This sounded important.”
Tara nodded and sighed. “I just wanted to talk. I wanted to clear the air, I guess.”
I didn’t know what she could possibly be talking about. Clearing the air? I hadn’t made her mad, and she hadn’t made me mad.
“I saw you looking at something that wasn’t there at dinner the other night,” Tara said. “Were you looking at a dead person?”
I smiled with relief. Tara was the one person who knew that I could see ghosts, given that we’d been friends from an early age. However, we hadn’t talked about it since I’d come back to Witch Woods. “Yes, it was Tiffany,” I said. “She wants me to find out who murdered her. She doesn’t have a clue who it was.”
Tara bit her lip. “I’d almost forgotten you could see ghosts. We haven’t talked about it in ages.”
I nodded my agreement. “You know, I thought you could see her, too.”
Tara shook her head. “I saw you looking at an empty space, and then figured it was a ghost.”
“I knew I was wrong,” I said, “but for a minute I thought you could see her. I must be going a bit nuts, living with my mother and all that. I even thought that hot accountant, Basil Sandalwood, could see ghosts too.”
Tara looked startled.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“It’s probably nothing,” Tara began, but after I shot her a withering look, she continued. “Well, you know how I’m a witch…”
“Yes, and that’s something we haven’t much talked about in years, too,” I said.
Tara smiled. “Yep. Anyway, witches use white sage for spiritual cl
eansing of rooms and stuff, and you said you smelled white sage at Basil’s office.”
My jaw fell open. “Are you saying that Basil Sandalwood is a, err, a witch?” I said a little too loudly.
“Shush!” Tara nodded to Kathy who was looking away from her TV and straight at me. “No, but the thought did occur to me. People who are into Feng Shui and stuff use white sage, too, so it’s not just witches.”
I scratched my head. “I wouldn’t have thought Basil Sandalwood was into anything, not Feng Shui, and especially not anything to do with being a witch either. Anyway, wouldn’t you know? Don’t you witches have a special handshake or something?”
Tara laughed. “No, silly, that’s Freemasons. I can’t tell if someone else is a witch. It’s not as if Basil has a YouTube channel or something. Look, he probably just has some funky type of aftershave.” She stopped talking as Kathy was scurrying over with our meals. We thanked Kathy as she set them in front of us, and then she shuffled off.
“So, you really think Basil could be a witch? Or a, I don’t know, a wizard or whatever? That’s what they call them in Harry Potter.”
“Not really,” Tara said, shaking her head as she lifted her sandwich to her lips and took a bite. After she finished her mouthful, she said, “It’s just that you thought you smelled white sage in his office.”
I thought that over. “I can see ghosts because every firstborn female in every second generation in Mom’s family can see them. Is being a witch hereditary, too? I don’t think I’ve ever asked you that.”
“Actually,” Tara said, “there are people who learn to be a witch, and others who are born with the abilities. I doubt he’s a witch, and if he is, he probably doesn’t want anyone to know.”
I tried to decide if I would want people knowing if I was a witch. I didn’t want anyone to know I spoke to dead people, so I guessed not. I certainly wouldn’t want my mother to know.
