“Let’s place our fingertips on the glass. Very gently,” Sophie instructed.
When the tips of their fingers were lightly touching the glass, Sophie scanned the others. All three had their eyes closed. Good. They were learning. She closed her own.
“If there is anyone who wishes to make contact, we are willing to allow you into our . . . realm,” she said in place of the word home. She really wanted to say home, as it sounded so much more inviting. Couldn’t have a spirit believing they weren’t welcome. “Come into our home,” she added, suddenly changing her mind.
No air circulated in the room, yet the candles she had lit earlier flickered, as though a slight breeze had passed through the room. Sophie opened her eyes, shocked at what she saw.
Hundreds of tiny white lights, orbs they were called, spun around the room so fast, it was hard to follow the movement.
“What the hell?” Toots blurted in total amazement.
“Shh,” Sophie cautioned. “I’m not sure what’s happening.”
Mavis and Ida stared at the bright dots dancing around the room. Moving, it seemed, at the speed of light, the orbs whirled around the room, then shot off to who knew where, only to have another hundred or so take their places. After several minutes of shock at what they were seeing, they heard a soft drone begin to fill the room, low, as if the sound were coming from a distance.
Bees, Sophie thought. It sounds like a swarm of bees. Seconds passed; the noise grew louder. Toots, Ida, and Mavis looked to Sophie for guidance. The noise became louder and more distinct as the small circles of light darted around the dining room.
Voices. It sounded like hundreds of people trying to talk at once. Sophie jerked to attention, trying to identify the interpreter, or whatever it called itself. Her hearing as sharp as a sword, Sophie went from her normal olive-colored skin to white in less than a second.
“Walter!” she whispered, knowing it couldn’t be, yet she’d clearly identified his voice as one among many. Maybe she was cracking up, losing touch with reality. Maybe it was time to give up the ghosts, move on to something more . . . earthbound.
The others gaped at her. “Sophie,” Toots said in a normal tone. “What did you just say?”
“Nothing.” Sophie shook her head, hoping to clear what she thought she heard. She scanned the room, still jam-packed with the translucent balls of light, trying to distinguish exactly where this so-called voice was coming from.
“Liar,” Toots said in a low tone.
“Shh,” she said. Sophie leaned closer to the table, wrenching her neck into a position so precarious that it actually made a popping sound.
“Are you okay?” Toots asked. She moved her chair closer to Sophie’s. “Something isn’t right. We need to stop this right now.”
Hearing the alarm in Toots’s voice jolted Sophie back to reality, or as much as one could, given her current circumstances. “I’m fine. Listen.” She leveled her gaze at the door leading to the kitchen.
The high-pitched garble in the room thundered in their ears, sounding like thousands of hoofbeats pounding against the earth. Straining to discern a male voice in the earsplitting loudness, Sophie cleared her throat before she spoke. “If you wish to make yourself known, do so or leave this room!”
In the blink of an eye, the room temperature dropped at least twenty degrees. Shivering with fear yet wanting to clarify what she’d thought was a voice from the past, Sophie drew her strength from Toots, who’d placed her hand on top of hers. Sort of like their secret handshake.
The anomalies began to disappear one by one, until there was only a handful of the translucent balls of light hovering several feet off the floor. After several seconds, the voices stopped, and the only sounds in the room were coming from the women themselves, their quickened breaths, in and out.
One by one, the orbs of light began to take on form. Each vaporous cloud became distinguishable by its gender, its clothing, and, lastly, for some of them, a face of sorts.
Before she totally lost her cool, Sophie counted the spirits. Thirteen in all. That had to be a bad omen. Clearing her throat again, Sophie spoke to the ghostly apparitions floating above the table.
“Identify yourselves!” she commanded with more power than she felt. The only female, or what Sophie designated as a female, swirled below the others. The misty image wore a flowered-print housedress with a V neckline. Several tissues leaked from her large bosom. Long wisps of white hair touched the flounce of her outdated dress.
“Oh my God,” Toots said. “It’s . . . Mrs. Patterson? But . . . how? She’s not . . .”
Sophie careened around so fast, her neck popped again. She’d be in a body cast if this kept up.
The old woman, void of the dentures she wore in life, smacked her waxen lips together. “Dead?” A cold mist passed through her lips when she spoke. “Then where’s Snuffy? Is she dead, too?” The old woman looked at Toots as if she knew the answer to her question.
Scooting their chairs across the hardwood floor, the four gathered closely around one another as quickly as possible.
In a raspy voice, Toots demanded, “Is this for real? If I remember correctly, Snuffy was Mrs. Patterson’s cat.”
Sophie nodded, asking, “Who the hell is Mrs. Patterson?”
“My neighbor in Charleston, but I’m not sure she’s actually dead,” Toots whispered.
Ida and Mavis hovered side by side, hands gripping one another. Sophie and Toots examined the hazy, mistlike woman levitating just above the table. She didn’t appear to have any legs. The male entities continued to linger a few feet above and behind the single female.
As suddenly as she had appeared, the ghost of Mrs. Patterson disappeared. In her place, one of the male ghosts zoomed over so quickly, Sophie wasn’t sure if what she thought she saw was actually happening. At least she wasn’t until she saw Ida’s features change from astonishment to total and absolute fear. Ida’s lips moved, but there was no sound. She shook her head, and her lips kept moving, but she remained completely speechless.
The male spirit bobbed above the table. His features were nebulous, yet his clothes were clearly outlined while still being transparent. Dark slacks and a fitted suit jacket shimmered against the flickering light from the candles.
“It’s . . . Thomas!” Ida placed a hand over her heart, as though she were in pain.
Sophie responded succinctly and without fear. She stared at the creepy form of matter that had captured Ida’s attention. “Now’s your chance to ask him exactly where he bought that tainted meat.”
Just as one would expect, Ida took a deep breath and proceeded to slither out of her chair, landing in a dead faint.
The spirit began to twirl, becoming cylindrical in shape, then shot toward the ceiling. A hollow sound, which Sophie could have sworn was laughter, reverberated through the room. The remaining orbs whirled around in every direction, reminding Sophie of shooting stars.
As fast as they had come, the other eleven orbs disappeared.
Sophie removed the bottle of holy water from her pocket. She proceeded to dump its contents in Ida’s face. Within a split second, Ida jolted back to reality.
Sputtering, wiping the remains of the holy water off her face with the back of her hand, Ida sat up, leaning against the chair’s legs. “I believe Thomas has returned from the grave to haunt me.”
Toots spoke, fright making her words shaky. “You may be onto something.”
For once, Toots, Mavis, and even Sophie nodded in agreement.
Chapter 1
The beach house, Malibu
Sophie Manchester sat on the deck, staring out at the Pacific and watching the reflections off the waves as the sun rose behind her. She rose, turning to the east, and watched a giant ball of fire floating above the mountains. Vibrant yellow, orange, and a dozen hues of pink, it appeared like a rosy blush-colored wine splashed across the sky. She crushed her third cigarette out in the giant shell she and Toots used for their ashtray, then began pacing
back and forth across the ocean-facing deck. The view was out of this world, but it could have been the Taj Mahal for all the attention she paid it. Haunted by last night’s events, she wondered if she’d opened a door that was meant to remain closed. She’d heard Walter’s voice; she would know it anywhere. The question was, should she continue to experiment with the unknown? There was no way in hell she would admit it, but she was now truly frightened of the ability she had to make contact with the other side. It was one thing to get through to Hollywood’s dead stars. It was a totally different ball of wax when it came to ex-husbands and neighbors who might still be alive. Madame Butterfly had told her many years ago that she had a special gift, but Sophie had always shrugged it off as a bunch of mumbo jumbo. She wasn’t so sure anymore.
Mavis, all 146 pounds of her, carried out a tray filled with an ungodly amount of healthy food, a carafe of fresh-squeezed orange juice, and four steaming mugs of coffee.
Placing the food-laden tray on the patio table, Mavis said, “I knew I would find you out here smoking those nasty old cigarettes. Are Toots and Ida up yet?”
“I heard Toots stirring around when I woke up. Nothing from Ida,” Sophie said flatly. “She’s probably still in shock after last night.”
Ever cheerful, Mavis observed, “Well, that was quite an experience. I don’t know that any one of us will ever get over it.” Mavis proceeded to empty the tray, placing the plates and cups on the table. “I’ve made steel-cut oats with fresh blueberries, and sliced pineapple with whole-grain toast, minus the butter, of course. I do believe you will like this fresh sugar-free strawberry jam I made last week. I saw this recipe on the Food Network, one of Paula Deen’s shows, but I made a few healthy substitutes. She uses so much butter, it’s a wonder that sweet little woman hasn’t suffered a major coronary from all that unhealthy cooking she does. Though I do enjoy her show.”
Sophie rolled her eyes, grabbed a mug of coffee, and carried it back to her lounge chair, where she sat down and lit another cigarette. “Why do you watch her if her show cooks nothing but fattening, unhealthy food?”
Mavis sat down at the table and stirred blueberries in her oatmeal, then took a healthy sip of orange juice before answering Sophie. “She’s such a dear woman. She reminds me of Toots. You know, sweet and silly, a little bit on the ornery side but with an air of sophistication. I would love to go to her restaurant in Savannah, Georgia, sometime before I die. Plus, I would have a chance to see those old graveyards from as far back as the eighteenth century. I think I will add that to my life list. What about you, Sophie?”
Sophie blew out a funnel of smoke and took a sip of coffee. “Actually, there are a few places I would like to see before I cross over into another world,” Sophie said. One evening, when they’d all had too much time on their hands, they’d each made a list, calling it their life list, of things they wanted to do before they passed on.
“Good. We all need something to look forward to in our old age, something fun and exciting.”
Sophie crushed out her ever-present cigarette before lighting another. She remembered last night and found that the place where sarcasm usually dwelt had become the home of fear. “Never hearing from . . . Well, let me put it this way. I want to make it my number one priority to guide Walter’s ghost straight into the fiery pits of hell. That’s going to the top of my life list.”
Mavis shook her head. “That is so sad, Sophie. You need to revamp your list.”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “I could say the same about you. This new fascination you have with graveyards, reading the obits like they’re great works of literature. Is that something on your life list?”
Mavis ducked her head, took a large spoonful of oatmeal, and practically shoved it down her throat. “That isn’t on my list.”
“Oh. Then explain why you’re so fascinated with the obituaries.” Sophie took a drink of coffee. “I’m waiting.”
Mavis stood, gathering up her bowl and the plate of fruit. “I certainly don’t want to sound rude, Sophie, but that isn’t any of your business. It’s just something that . . . well, I’m curious about. How long people lived, whom they left behind.”
Sophie inhaled, then blew the smoke out, where it swirled above her head like a halo. “I could understand if it were family. But these are strangers. You need to find another hobby.”
At that moment, Toots stepped outside, saving Mavis from having to reply. Spying the coffee, she helped herself to a mug. “What’re you two arguing about this early?” Toots sat down in her deck chair, reaching for her ever-present pack of cigarettes. She lit up and blew the smoke out in one giant puffy cloud.
“Mavis’s morbid fascination with the obits. It’s her new hobby,” Sophie said.
Mavis snatched the tray off the table so quickly that her mug of coffee tipped over, sending the brown liquid flying through the air, then landing on her charcoal gray blouse. Sophie just then realized that Mavis seemed to be wearing a lot of different shades of gray lately. Maybe she was in mourning for all those strangers she spent so much time reading about.
“I’m going to pretend we never had this conversation. Now I have work to do.” Mavis rushed through the open doors, her willowy blouse flapping like wings.
“Stuck-up!” Sophie shouted to her back. Since Mavis had lost all that weight, she’d become a bit conceited, but, Sophie granted, Mavis was entitled since she’d literally worked her tail off to lose almost a hundred pounds. If asked a year ago, Sophie would never have believed Mavis could be so dedicated, so disciplined, but she’d proven her wrong. The same with Ida. Her life had been defined by her fear of germs. Had Toots not stepped in, who knew what Ida would be doing right now? Though Ida’s OCD wasn’t as severe as some cases, and all the girls suspected her of playing this up to the nth degree, none of them wanted to see her suffer in any way.
“You shouldn’t be so hard on her,” Toots said. “She’s come a long way.”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “I know that. I just don’t understand this newfound fascination with the obits, that’s all.”
“What about our newest . . . ah . . . hobby?” Toots was almost hesitant to bring up last night. It’d scared the guff out of all of them. “Séances? That’s not your everyday hobby.”
“It isn’t a hobby at all. You, of all people, should know that. It’s a . . . gift,” Sophie informed her.
“A gift? I thought this was entertainment, something for Abby’s column for The Informer,” Toots replied. Abby was Toots’s daughter and the editor in chief of a Los Angeles–based tabloid that, unbeknownst to Abby, Toots had bought a year or so ago. Toots took a sip of her coffee, then tossed the remains over the deck. “Mavis makes the worst coffee.”
Sophie reached for a slice of pineapple from the platter Mavis had left on the table. “Her food stinks, too. I need something real. Like a ham-and-cheese omelet with a side of greasy hash browns. This healthy stuff will be the death of me.”
Toots nodded in agreement. “Stop trying to change the subject. I want to talk about what happened last night.”
Sophie swallowed her pineapple, took a drink of coffee, then lit up. “I was as shocked as the rest of you. I think I’ve opened up a portal for our dead husbands. I did some heavy-duty research on the Internet last night, after I went upstairs. I know it sounds nuts, but I don’t have any other explanation. You got any bright ideas?”
“Isn’t that supposed to be evil, like a place for demons to come and go? Take over someone’s personality, their soul?” Toots asked.
Sophie shook her head, her dark brown hair wrapping around her face. She tucked the loose strands behind her ears. “You’re talking about demonic possession. I don’t believe we have anything like that going on here. It’s like I said, I think our exes are coming back to . . . I’m not sure what they’re coming back for. Maybe they just want to frighten us. I don’t have any other explanation.”
Toots was quiet for a moment. “I suppose if Leland should decide to . . . make hi
s presence known, I’ll have to explain why I didn’t bury him with his expensive bottle of scotch. The old coot was cheap in life. I doubt that’s changed in death. Maybe he’s stuck in between, you know, waiting for whatever it is they wait for to help them cross over to the other side. Or in his case, he might be waiting for a U-Haul to bring his fortune to his grave site.”
Toots took a deep drag from her cigarette. “In his case it might be that he’ll return for all that money he left behind.”
Sophie laughed, but her heart wasn’t in it. “I suppose if Walter and Leland crossed paths, they could . . . Hell, I don’t know. Maybe Walter’s looking for Leland’s bottle of scotch that you were supposed to bury with him. Could be his liver’s been revived.”
Coffee spewed from Toots’s mouth as she uttered a hearty guffaw. “Only you would think of something like that at a time like this.” She wiped her mouth with a tissue from her jeans pocket.
All traces of humor gone, Sophie inquired, “What is that supposed to mean? ‘At a time like this’?”
“You know what I mean. This séance ordeal. Last night. Do you suppose there is a connection of some kind, something we’re missing?” Toots asked.
“I thought of that, and I’m coming up as empty-handed as you are. I think we need to try another séance tonight. We’ll try to duplicate last night’s séance as closely as possible. Same time, same candles. We’ll wear the same clothes, the whole deal.”
“Something tells me Ida isn’t going to be game for this a second time,” Toots said.
“Then we’ll just have to make sure she is game,” Sophie shot back.
“Explain exactly how we’re going to do this. I doubt that Ida will ever want to sit in on one of our séances again. Now that she’s seen Thomas, and before you say anything, no, I cannot believe these words are coming out of my mouth, but it is what it is, so how do you propose we convince her to come to another . . . performance?” It amazed Toots how she accepted these . . . peculiar entities as part of their normal, everyday life.
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